


As the Sand Loves the Sea

by windfish



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Angst, Coming of Age, Drama & Romance, Gen, M/M, Main Game Spoilers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-08 07:31:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8835739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windfish/pseuds/windfish
Summary: Those who say that it is better to have loved and to have lost have never lost everything. --A coming-of-age tale of two boys coming together in a lonely world.





	1. Hau'oli

**Author's Note:**

> A few quick establishing notes here: Given the nature of Guzma, expect to read about some child abuse and poor coping mechanisms and other stuff in that vein. There will eventually be sexual interactions and the rating might go up, with a specific warning on the chapter when it happens, but you'll have to use your own judgement. I'm treating this more as a character study/coming-of-age story than anything else. 
> 
> A lot of the stuff I'm using for basis of canon is coming from the games directly, like Guzma's house and their Pokemon teams, though I am taking some liberty as needed. (You can't beat the island trials with nothing but bugs, dude. Especially when you pass up Vikavolt!!! Guzma, what is wrong with you?)
> 
> I also greatly welcome and encourage crit-- I am a perfectionist and consistently rework projects, so if something stands out, please let me know!

                Their first introduction had been at the trainer school just outside of Hau’oli. Kukui had gotten to school early, eager to finally take the first step in the island challenge, all scraped knees, shorts, and a loose t-shirt, dressed in a toothy grin to everyone that he had met as he raced to school alongside his Rockruff, Pebble. The pudgy, dark-skinned boy enthusiastically introduced himself to everyone in the school, professors and students alike, nearly shaking in anticipation for his adventure to finally begin.

                After class ended and the kids were released for lunch, Kukui ran straight to a boy from his class—the skinny, sullen boy had quietly introduced himself as “Guzma” and let a palpable silence fill the room after that, failing to mention where he was from, what his favorite Pokemon was, or any of the other ice-breaking questions. Kukui immediately thought he was the coolest kid in class and had to be his friend at any cost.

                “Hey Guzma!” Kukui outstretched his hand to the boy sitting on the swingset and kicking dirt with his scuffed sneakers. “I’m Kukui. Let’s be friends!”

                “What?” Guzma looked up at him blankly, messy black hair framing his face. “Uh… whatever, kid.”

                “You’re a kid too!” Kukui seemed unfazed by the way Guzma blew him off, retracting his handshake and instead shifting the conversation as he noticed the boy’s lack of a lunch. “Do you want to share my lunch? I’m so excited I don’t know how much I can eat!”

                “Nah. I already ate at home.” Guzma slouched into the swing’s seat, chewing on his lower lip. “Go eat with the other freaks.”

                “You’re not a freak!”

                “I was—I was talking about you!” Guzma hissed, feeling hot shame rise to his face as more faces turned to look at them. “Go away. I don’t like you.”

                Kukui didn’t take their conversation as a bust, though, and persisted in getting through to Guzma, both in class and at lunch, offering fresh malasadas, cool rocks, and whatever else he thought might get through to the boy. It was the second week of school when he finally made any sort of progress beyond huffing and being ignored—he offered a dawn stone that Pebble had found, raw and unpolished, but he thought that the sparkling stone, the colour of the sea, might get through to the boy.

                Guzma looked at the offering of the day and finally stood up from the swing set, trying to puff out his chest and make his wiry 7 year old frame look intimidating, even as his white shirt hung of off his body like a flag of surrender.

                “I said to leave me alone! I don’t want to be your friend!” He shoved Kukui backwards, standing over him as he tumbled to the ground.

                “Guzma!” The island captain’s voice reached across the recess yard and everyone became starkly quiet as the teenager closed the distance between the two, watching the nervous tension reach a boiling point. “Guzma, meet me in the dean’s office. We are going to have a serious talk about your behavior.”

                Another student helped Kukui up, though he insisted that he wasn’t hurt and Guzma shouldn’t get in trouble—he had worse tumbles at home and he didn’t want Guzma to get in trouble because he was being annoying.

\---

                It was Thursday when Guzma had shoved Kukui and it was that same Thursday when Kukui saw Guzma get taken home early from school by what he could only assume were his parents. It wouldn’t be until the following Monday that he saw Guzma again, the entire time worrying that he had gotten Guzma expelled over a rock. He had come to school the next day exhausted but confident with his awkwardly cut and polished dawn stone, ready with excuses about how he had wanted to make a hole for a charm, but he didn’t know where—or if—Guzma would want to put it. Saturday, Guzma had been absent as well, and he tried to argue with himself that the Saturday school was optional and he hadn’t been there the first weekend, either.

                When Guzma did show back up, halfway through lunch time, Kukui was more reserved in his approach, cautiously tapping Guzma’s shoulder before apologizing. He rubbed the dawn stone between his thumb and forefinger anxiously, hoping that he didn’t ruin his chance at a new friend.

                “I’m real sorry you got in trouble, Guzma. I shouldn’ta kept bugging you.”

                “Yea. You shouldn’t have.” Guzma turned his head in acknowledgement, and Kukui realised that Guzma’s entire aura had changed over the weekend. He seemed more tired than annoyed, shoulders slumped even as he stood up. “Um… I shouldn’t have pushed you.” He turned to face Kukui, though he couldn’t make eye contact.

                Kukui wordlessly took in the exchange, noticing for the first time that Guzma was wearing a jacket in the Alolan summer, hands in his pocket and hunched just the slightest bit.

                “I… I know you got mad at me for it but I polished that rock that Pebble found. I thought…”

                “Thanks.” Guzma held out a hand and took the rock, much to Kukui’s surprise. The boy gave a tired, meek twitch of his lips that might have passed for a smile if you really looked.

\---

                Over the next few months, Guzma had reluctantly become friends with Kukui, sharing malasadas and halving sandwiches at lunch time. Kukui tried to quiet his bubbling excitement whenever Guzma approached him, in hopes that if he stayed more manageable, it would help him grow as a trainer and not just as a friend. Despite the apparent leaps and bounds in their friendship, Kukui still felt like he knew less about the boy than anyone else he knew—he could at least tell you a birthday, or last name, or favorite food about any of his other classmates.  Just about the only thing he had managed to get out of Guzma was the name of his pokemon, and even then, Guzma insisted that Scuttlebutt was too shy to meet him yet. He also knew that Guzma apparently trained on Saturdays and Sundays on his own, proudly showing and flexing his bruised arms and boasting about how Scuttlebutt even took down a Growlithe last week.  

                He did finally get to see Scuttlebutt in action one day in class—as they finally approached the time to practice battling, they introduced their Pokemon as a group. Kukui held Pebble proudly above his head, loudly announcing her Rock-typing and subsequent strengths, while others were less confident in their knowledge or presentation. Guzma presented Scuttlebutt last, anxiously whispering to the Pokeball before setting it carefully on the table.

                “Scuttlebutt is a water and bug type. He’s… not very good at battling very much of anything. We’re workin’ on it.” He seemed to hold his breath before releasing the ball, a small, hard-shelled creature appearing on the table. Kukui had never seen a Wimpod before, and he doubted if many of the other students had, either, based on the response. There was a small commotion as people drew closer to Scuttlebutt in fascination, and Guzma realized the volume too late. Scuttlebutt’s antennae and tail whipped up, revealing several sets of tiny legs before he scurried across the room out of desperation.

                Girls shrieked at the many-legged bug zooming away, and Kukui and Guzma both dove for the fleeing bug while a mild panic ensued, people both intentionally trying to stomp on the pathetic little Pokemon and unintentionally stepping near it as they attempted to avoid the bug. The professor tried to clamor for order while Kukui finally grabbed Scuttlebutt by the tail, holding it up like a proud fishing trophy. Guzma quickly put Scuttlebutt into his pokeball, quickly mumbling that he couldn’t handle loud noises or people yet. He tried to ignore his flushing face and the sound of his heart in his ears as he rushed to the back of the classroom, and Kukui sat next to him.

                “Scuttlebutt is really cool, Guzma. He’s super fast!” He whispered, trying to help with the boy’s embarrassment. “He’s gonna be a great Pokemon.”

\---

                Their friendship still had many pitfalls—Guzma often shoved Kukui away, though with less force than the first time, and would disappear for days at a time, silent as to where he had gone. Kukui felt like they were, of course, still friends, but couldn’t but help but feel a pang of sadness and dismay when Guzma gave him a cold shoulder or snapped at him about being annoying, storming off to be on his own. He didn’t know why some days it was okay and other days Guzma acted like he was a mob of Pikipek drilling into his brain, straining to not raise his voice any louder. He had learned to anticipate it after the first few times, though; it was usually after a long weekend and always when he had been gone for a few days.

                It was one such Tuesday—after Guzma had been late to school on Monday—that Kukui recalled a conversation he had with Hala, the island’s Kahuna about Guzma.

_“He probably just misses you, Kukui.” Hala had stated matter-of-factly. “I’d be pretty grumpy if I didn’t have your face in my life for more than a few days!“ He had smiled and laughed, patting Kukui on the back as a reassurance. “I bet if you invite him over for the weekend, it might help. Give it a shot, okay?”_

                “Hey, Guzma… um…  do you want to come over after school? It—it doesn’t have to be today! It can be any day you want to come over.” The only response he had been met with was a _hmph_ and Guzma pulling his hoodie on over his head before walking away. Kukui sighed, thinking that maybe it really _was_ just Guzma’s weird way of asking for a friendship that lasted more than the six hours of school—but that didn’t make it any easier to get a reply from Guzma, nor did it solve the problem he was still having.        

\---

                “Do you want to, um, come over to my house? It’s right by the Berry Farm.” Their lesson about berries had reminded Guzma of his proximity to the Berry Farm… and Kukui’s previous offer of spending the night. He figured that the two of them could look for any stray berries that wandered into his yard, or visit the Farm itself, if Kukui was up for it. Scuttlebutt seemed more comfortable with Kukui than nearly anyone else and if it helped him get over his fear, it would be worth it, but he still wouldn’t let Kukui overstay his welcome by spending the night.

                “Of course!” Kukui tried to contain the ball of excitement in his chest. They were making real progress—it wasn’t quite what he was expecting to come of the offer, but he would take anything he could to keep Guzma from being moody and distant. Plus, he might be able to visit Guzma’s house more often from here on out, and he could surprise him, if it didn’t annoy him.

                Once they were outside of the main urban center of Hau’oli, Guzma let Scuttlebutt out of his ball. The little bug had grown more used to Kukui and Pebble after repeated visits on the playground, away from the other students, and Guzma felt proud of how far Scuttlebutt had come. The boys had to still be quiet around the bug, and occasional sharp movements from Pebble set him on edge, but it was a vast improvement from the bolting that he had been so fond of up until that point.

                They had made it to Guzma’s house, a quaint little wood-sided house on the edge of the Route. As they approached the landing, Guzma brought Scuttlebutt back to his ball, warning Kukui that he was frightened of sudden movements and might run into the tall grass again if the door scared him. The house was empty, and Kukui took it in with a smile. It smelled like Guzma; there was a hint of citrus and more than a hint of spices in the air, and he tracked it down to a bowl of potpourri setting out on the coffee table. They made their way to the back of the house, where Guzma introduced his room. It was rather plainly decorated, the exception being a large stereo system and stacks of CDs.

                “My parents got this for me for Christmas last year. It’s awesome!” Guzma motioned to it before jumping up in his bed and patting for Kukui to join him. Kukui joined him, taking in the rest of the boy’s room. There were crude drawings of Wimpod (and, if he looked closely, a single one of a Rockruff) pinned up on a corkboard and a poster for some band. The bedside shelf had several books on training Pokemon, but the top was empty.

                “I’m gonna put all my trophies there.” Guzma stated matter-of-factly, letting Scuttlebutt out of his ball. “Right, Scuttlebutt? We’re gonna be the strongest people on Melemele island—and then Alola, and then the world!”

                “I dunno about that one, Guzma….” Kukui started, playfully tossing Pebble at the older boy. “Pebble and I are gonna be the strongest first!”

                Scuttlebutt hopped off the bed via a stack of CDs and books and made his way to a crudely modified Pokemon bed, one wall having been removed for easier access. Guzma laughed and offered the bug a treat from his pocket.

                “Do you think all Pokemon like berries?” Kukui wondered out loud, thinking about how Pebble had long since given up on Guzma’s treats, frowning at the salty flavor of seaweed, mud, and fish flakes combined into a ball, and instead whining for treats from Kukui. “Or do you think they like all of them the same?”

                “I dunno. The Berry Farm guy lets Scuttlebutt choose when he’s hungry and he always likes the spicy kind. The sherry kind or something like that. I dunno if it’s just because it’s small enough for him to eat, though…” Guzma shrugged. “I know a shortcut if you want to see what Pebble likes.”

                “Isn’t it already right behind your house?”

                Guzma wordlessly got up and opened his window, throwing his bag out into the backyard and grabbing Scuttlebutt. “Follow me.” And with that, Guzma had climbed out the window and into his backyard. There was a towering tree of some sort and a swing hung from one of the sturdier branches, and Kukui couldn’t help the pang of jealousy—he had to go to the park to play on the swingset, and Guzma had one right in his backyard!

                “C’mon.” Guzma pulled back a thick wooden post from the fencing, motioning for Kukui and Pebble to go through. “Ladies first.” He gave an exaggerated bow, watching Kukui, Pebble, and Scuttlebutt go through the small entryway before going through, himself.

                “Ta-da! Berry Farms.” He put his hands on his hips proudly, smirking at Kukui. “Backstage pass.”

                Pebble had already run forward, sniffing around for the most delectable berries, and Kukui looked around in wonder at the sheer number of berry trees. There were spots of blue and red and gold glittering in the trees above, and crates that he could see were filled with the berries as well. A Delibird squawked at Pebble and the boys laughed as the two Pokemon fought over a Chesto berry, Delibird’s weak grip no match for Pebble’s strong jaws.

                “Guzma!” The older boy turned around and waved at the older man, dressed in overalls and a wide-brimmed hat. “I haven’t seen you in a while, boy!”

                “Hey Hoku!” Guzma ran over to the older man. “I started school. My friend and his Rockruff are trying to find out what kind of berry tastes the best.” He motioned to the two, and Pebble and Kukui waved back.

                “I’m Kukui and this is Pebble. Do you grow all of this yourself?”

                “I’m Hoku. Happy to meet ya. I’ve got my Delibirds to help me, and the trees do most of the work for me!” Hoku grinned, leaning down to the level of the two boys. “But… do you boys wanna help me out a little bit? I’ll let you keep some berries.” Both boys nodded, and happily helped Hoku pluck berries from bushes and trees into the late evening, pocketing a few here and there for school.

\---

                Scuttlebutt was not that great in battle, still, but most of the freshman class wasn’t—Guzma had walked away in third place after the Wimpod had run away from their classmate’s Meowth, and he forfeit the match to chase after him. Pebble had lost sooner than that, Kukui forgetting that his classmate’s Machop would land super-effective attacks.

                Guzma beamed with pride for the pictures, nonetheless. He held Scuttlebutt up on his shoulder, posing so that the medal crossed over both, and rewarded the bug with a treat for doing such a good job during picture time, despite the flash of the cameras. The Wimpod’s nerve was building up, feeling more at ease around both Kukui and Guzma, and making his way towards accepting the professor and other students.

                The last day of the semester, before the winter break, the boys had been teamed up for a double battle tournament, and they spent the week before class strategizing for it. Guzma squatted over the dirt in the playground area, drawing out plans with a stick—Scuttlebutt was a triangle and Pebble was a circle, and he tried to show his team what he was planning. The bug was very low to the ground and exceedingly quick; what he lacked in nerve he made up with in strategically disabling others, and Pebble’s brave personality and strong bites made up for her poor defenses. They practiced their routines and attempts on the weekend, rushing out into the rural patches of Hau’oli city to make sure their strategy worked on all sorts of Pokemon—from Magnemite to Growlithe.

                “We’re gonna win, Kukui, and get that gold medal!” Guzma stated triumphantly as they knocked out a particularly strong Yungoose. He sprayed a potion on Scuttlebutt’s scraped shell and offered a berry to Pebble. Kukui felt just as confident, watching as the two directed moves in tandem, and the Pokemon themselves seemed to enjoy their teaming, Scuttlebutt seeming much more confident alongside the brave puppy.

On the day of the tournament, it all went per Guzma’s plan, indeed. Pebble and Scuttlebutt worked together, the small, hard-shelled Pokemon scuttling and pulling up a cloud of sand at their opponents while Pebble kicked rocks through the dusty battlefield—even the professors at the school cooed at the teamwork of the boys and their Pokemon, praising their strategy on the first major double battle as students. They had gotten to the semifinals when Scuttlebutt took a particularly nasty thundershock and went careening away from the school battlegrounds. Guzma immediately followed, trying to grab and tackle the Wimpod before it could make it much further. Running onto the field was an instant disqualification and the judge had called it, aloud, in front of the crowd. Guzma felt red rushing across his face as Scuttlebutt finally slowed to a stop, allowing him to grab the Pokemon in both arms and hug it tightly as he ran back into the school. Kukui frowned—it wasn’t a big deal, his teacher even said that Wimpods just run away sometimes, no one could blame Guzma for it.

Guzma was not there for the awards ceremony, and peering into the crowd, Kukui didn’t see his parents, either. He hoped that they could calm him down, somehow, and let him know that it wasn’t a big deal. They must have been proud of him to get so far with such a handicap on Scuttlebutt in the first place! He held both medals in his hand, promising the professor that he would make sure Guzma got it—he knew where he lived, and maybe he could even stay over for the weekend in celebration!

\---

                Kukui paused at the door to Guzma’s house, the twilight making it harder for his eyes to focus and his ears picking up the sensory slack. He heard yelling and crying, putting the side of his head up to the door and straining to hear—he hoped Guzma wasn’t still upset about the battle earlier, and he had formulated a small speech to cheer his friend up on the trip there. Then he realised that it wasn’t Guzma yelling at all—he heard the voice of his father, incomprehensible through the heavy door, and the unmistakable sound of Guzma crying out. Kukui’s heart dropped into his stomach as the pieces finally came together.

It suddenly made sense; the way Scuttlebutt flinched away from noise and people, Guzma’s outbursts, the days he would wear sunglasses or jackets. Kukui quickly backed away from the door; he didn’t know what to do. His feet carried him around the side of the house, hiding underneath Guzma’s bedroom window and waiting for the commotion to die down. It thankfully didn’t take long before he was able to cautiously peek in and see his friend again. The window was cracked enough for him to push it open, but he froze when he saw Guzma hugging his knees to his forehead, shaking. Guzma was _crying_ and Kukui didn’t know what to do. He heard the soft inhalations and hiccups of his best friend, and he called out to him, seeing Scuttlebutt emerge from under the bed and Guzma try to wipe the tears from his face and respond with as much venom in his voice as he could muster.

                “G-go aw-away.”

                “Guzma… are you okay?” Kukui crawled through the window, falling in with an undignified thump before walking over to his friend’s hunched form.  Guzma shoved him back, giving a loud sniff. Kukui could see a bruise forming on his friend’s face around his eye and tried to stifle a gasp.

                “Y-you’re gonna get me in trouble!” Guzma hiccuped, shoving him further and standing as his full height, shoulders heaving with unshed tears. “Go home, idiot!” Angry footsteps could be heard from outside the bedroom door and Kukui’s eyes widened, diving back out the window before Guzma’s dad cracked open the door. The pounding of his heart in his throat kept him from listening to the conversation. Eventually he could _feel_ a pair of eyes boring into him, and he turned his view upward to see Guzma leaning out of his window.

                “Don’t ever c-come to my house again.” Guzma’s voice was hard as he fixed his gaze on Kukui. He pulled himself back into the room, closing the window and locking it with a dull _click_. Kukui paused for a moment longer before he finally scrambled to his feet and ran home, trying to make sense of it all. _Why would anyone hurt Guzma?_ He still held Guzma’s medal in his hand, the brilliant copper shine dulled to a dark mud colour in the low light. It had felt heavy and important in his grip earlier, but as his legs took him to Iki town, it felt like a toy—unimportant compared to the newfound weight on his heart.  

\---

Kukui looked around his room, trying to come up with a plan—he didn’t have another bed, but he had a sleeping bag and he was sure that his guardians would understand that his friend needed a space. It wasn’t just a sleepover—Guzma was going to move in with them. Maybe they could adopt Guzma and that would fix everything; he wouldn’t have to worry about being hurt, and he wouldn’t have to be mean to Kukui, and maybe it would even help out Scuttlebutt. Guzma wouldn’t be able to say no to that—he knew how embarrassed Guzma got when he ran away, and how hard he had been trying to get Scuttlebutt to trust more than a few people.

He would have to talk to Guzma first about it—he wanted to make sure Guzma was okay, that his dad wouldn’t follow him to Kukui’s house, that it was going to _work_. Guzma was very good at making strategies and Kukui was good at making them a reality, so it would be perfect. This could be their first island challenge before they were even out of school, except instead of winning Z-crystals or a stamp, he’d be winning stability and trust for his friend.

                Kukui didn’t know how to listen; Guzma didn’t know why he didn’t realise this sooner, glaring at the smaller boy across the clearing a ways past the Berry Farm. He clenched a fist and gritted his teeth, closing the distance between the two of them sooner than he had realised. Guzma was taller than Kukui, though not by much—he had enough height to sort of look down upon him, and stood on his toes to emphasise this fact to the younger boy.

                “You can’t tell anyone what you saw last night.” He threatened, gripping the front of Kukui’s shirt until his knuckles turned white. “I’ll—I’ll kick your ass if you do!” Kukui felt like the threat seemed more hollow than it should have, with a black eye and scrawny frame that was shaking from anger. He knew by now that he could easily take Guzma on in a real fight, with his sturdier frame and purer strength, but he knew just as well that he absolutely _wouldn’t_ take Guzma on in a fight.

                “Are you okay?”

                “Why do you care?” He growled, hands straining to try and lift Kukui by his shirt. It wasn’t going to work, and he could tell that Kukui already knew it.

                “If you’re okay, I—I won’t tell anyone, okay?” He tried to reason with him, though he felt like maybe he should just lie and tell someone anyway. If he got his ass kicked, it would be worth it—it was just the thought that it would hurt Guzma that kept Kukui away from the concept.

                “You—I’m fine. You have to pinky promise you won’t tell.” Guzma begrudgingly loosened his grip and extended a pinky—Kukui noticed the long sleeves and the budding bruise just past his wrist, trying to not let his eyes give away his concern. He looped a dark finger with Guzma’s and gave a lop-sided smile to parry Guzma’s exhausted glare.

                “I pinky promise.”

                “Please.” His voice almost sounded like a plea, if it had been anyone else-- Kukui realised he had never heard the word leave the boy’s mouth before. “I can handle it.” He patted his chest proudly. “I’m tough, remember? Me and Scuttlebutt are gonna take care of it.” _I don’t want you to get hurt cuz you told_ , Guzma finished in the back of his mind.

                Kukui still wasn’t sure why he dropped his plan and promised such a stupid thing—Guzma told him it wouldn’t stop anything, though, and for some reason he _believed_ him even after he had lied to him all this time about wild Pokemon fights and bike riding accidents. He couldn’t even remember if Guzma _had_ a bike, and it set a fit of guilt off in the pit of his stomach. He should have known. He should have done something—he should be doing something _now_ , but he couldn’t break a promise to Guzma, not after everything else. He’d bring it up later to a lukewarm answer at best, and later even still to an even colder answer, and drop the plan entirely by the end of summer, as sick as it made him to his stomach.


	2. Melemele

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guzma and Kukuui begin their Island Challenge, starting with their home island: Melemele.

                Once they graduated from the Trainer’s school—three years of it, trying to figure out how to make their way in the world of battling—the two began their Island Challenge on the same day, at the tail end of the Alolan summer, months after receiving their pendants. Melemele Island was a traditional start to the challenge, easing students into the challenge with only a single captain and a kahuna, and it also provided a familiar backdrop to many student’s first adventures. Many children were already familiar with the Melemele Meadow and took small pilgrimages to the more rural side of the island to catch some of their first Pokemon. It was not impossible, and perhaps even designed purposely, as a stepping stone to introduce the challenge in a softer way—Route 3 and the mountainside were very much beginner slopes, especially compared to many of the rugged and dangerous areas near Poni Island and Blush Mountain. Many adult trainers and more skilled teenagers staked out the rocky slope, prepared with first aid knowledge and ride Pokemon to provide as safe an environment as possible for the beginners on their challenge.

                Those who made it through the Verdant cave system near the summit were allowed access to the slightly more dangerous Ten Karat Hill, where many could train to prepare themselves for the kahuna, Hala. Hala was known on Melemele as being particularly tough to take on in combat, with a skillful integration of elemental punches and raw power. He was the last hurdle to a life of freedom, away from the island, and for many people, the only thing standing between them and a life off the islands. There were no rules against going back, but nearly every young child on Melemele Island looked forward to the nervous energy of their first real adventure with the safety net pulled out from under them.

                Guzma and Kukui had spent much of the summer trying their best to pretend to be training—instead, they spent the lazy, warm days playing on Hau’oli’s beach, listening to CDs, and otherwise doing everything _but_ training. Occasionally a Wingull or Yungoos would show up while they were playing, and they would take turns and place fake bets on who would win faster. Pebble was particularly skilled at handling Wingull, while Scuttlebutt impressed everyone when he took down a stray Growlithe that had interrupted their sand castle. They did occasionally spend a few days training, and Guzma had caught his second Pokemon—a small, plump Spinarak that Guzma had named Freckle after her extra black spots. They had spent a few days exploring the small bug’s abilities in battle before returning to playing in the woods or at the beach.

                They could see the mountain—really, more of a hill—that composed the long Route 3 from nearly everywhere in Hau’oli, and yet they felt satisfied, in a weird way, if they never completed their island challenge. Guzma had been more anxious to start it in the beginning, but since he had finally been to Kukui’s house and slept over during the summer, he felt more and more at ease right where he was. After all, Kukui lived with the Kahuna of the whole island, and if he was okay with the two of them right where they were, that meant Tapu Koko was, too, right? Hala felt like an uncle to him, just a little bit older than his own father but with the wisdom and kindness to span generations.

                It was a less-than-civil discussion from his father that had reinforced his anxiousness—Guzma had sheepishly questioned why the Island Challenge was such a big deal in the first place. He didn’t mention that he felt, for once, happy and fine to just grow up on Melemele with his best friend. His father wasn’t happy with having a slacker for a son, who wouldn’t accomplish anything, who still never got better than a single silver trophy, and even then, Kukui had been the one to carry them to victory. It was not the first time his father had pushed him towards the Island Challenge that summer, but it had finally come to a head at that point, after months of procrastinating.

\---

                “We gotta start the challenge.” Guzma had a split lip and Kukui could tell that his nose had been bleeding before he cleaned himself up. _We gotta tell someone_ , is what Kukui wanted to reply with, but instead he gave a weak-hearted smile and nodded.

                “Yeah, I gotta catch up to you anyways!” Kukui shrugged, patting Pebble on the head. “I still only have one Pokemon and you’ve got twice as many as me!”

                "I’ll… I got my stuff already.” He motioned to his backpack, a little beat up and worn from the years of abuse it had been through. “… I’ll meet you on Route 3, okay?”

                “We can go togeth--“ Kukui called after him, but Guzma had already turned around and made his way towards the hill. “Guzma! Wait!” It was no use, and Kukui felt dumb for it, wondering why his best friend had to always be so dramatic and sullen about _everything_. He ran home, shoveling potions and repels in his back as fast as he could—he was going to be gone for at least a week and he tried his best to say heartfelt goodbyes while trying to mentally track how far Guzma was ahead of him by now.

\---

                Guzma, as it turned out, had not gotten very far ahead of him at all. He was waiting patiently for Kukui a little ways into Route 2, sitting by a tree and feeding Pokebeans to Freckle and Scuttlebutt. Something about his mood seemed a little bit off, a carryover from his sudden desire to start the challenge that morning, and Kukui wasn’t sure if he should question it or not. He’d learned that sometimes Guzma was just quiet and needed to be alone and he hoped that he had taken long enough for Guzma to be feeling better soon. Sometimes his bummer moods could bring down even the chronic optimism of Kukui.

                “Hey. I got all my stuff together.” Kukui motioned to his pack, and got no response from Guzma. Scuttlebutt looked towards him expectantly, tickling Guzma’s ankle with his tail, but finally gave up. The bug always seemed to have the same expression, but Kukui felt like it seemed sadder than usual this time.

                “Guzma. Hello?” He waved a hand in front of his friend, who just shot him a glare before turning his attention to Freckle. “You woke me up to get started on this challenge and now you won’t even _talk_ to me?” Guzma frustrated him sometimes, but maybe it was his rude awakening that morning that had pushed him over _his_ edge. He clenched his hand into a fist, waiting for Guzma to say something, _anything_ that would prove he wasn’t just ignoring him.

                “… I wanna be alone.” Guzma finally stated, and Kukui finally lashed out at Guzma.

                “Okay, fine, whatever. You can _be_ alone in all your dumb, moody…. _stuff_.” He hoisted his pack higher on his shoulder. “Come on, Pebble. Maybe we can see him on the way down, after we fight the totem Pokemon _first_.” Pebble looked back sadly as her owner kept on the path, determined to not look back. He didn’t care what Guzma thought right now. He was tired of having to always be there for _Guzma_ and on _Guzma’s time_ with nothing to show for it. He could barely even dignify Kukui with a response, who had skipped out on what was planned to be a great feast before going on his Island Challenge. He held his head up high as he made a point to ignore Guzma like Guzma always ignored him when he got into his moods.

\---

                He felt only a little bit bad when the weather kicked up a bit, heavy winds blowing through and chilling him. _He’ll be fine. He can handle himself. That’s all he ever talks about, anyway._ Pebble seemed nervous about the weather, but Kukui insisted that it would be fine.

                “We’re fine. You’re a rock-type so you should do pretty good against a strong wind, right? And I brought a tarp and stuff so we can set up out of the wind tonight.” Kukui seemed proud of himself, putting his hands on his hips. “We can do this, Pebble.” The rockruff looked at him, as if to say it wasn’t _them_ they were worried about, but made her nerves settle nonetheless. Her owner was just a child and prone to stupidity, just like Scuttlebutt’s owner was. It was fine. It wasn’t hard to handle this part of the trip with just a few Pokemon and your own will, so her owner’s friend would be fine, too. She sat down with a small whine, looking back on the trail.

                It was less than an hour later when Guzma finally showed up on the trail, and Pebble barked happily, rousing Kukui from his determined effort to peel a berry. He shot a look towards Guzma, trying his best to give a glare worthy of the boy’s own attitude, but found it difficult to not be at least a little bit relieved.

                “What do you want, Guzma? I thought you were too _good_ for us.” Kukui looked back to the berries, trying to avoid eye contact—and trying to avoid remembering just how _depressing_ Guzma could be. But he wasn’t always depressing, and when they played on the beach or in the park they were fine and happy—it was really just after arguments with his dad that he got to be so annoying, and Kukui really wished that he hadn’t promised Guzma he wouldn’t tell. When they finished the trial, he might just tell Hala or someone so that they could help him, because Kukui wanted his friend back, and Kukui wanted his friend to not have to be hur—

                “I ran away from home this morning.” Guzma’s voice was shuddering and out of breath, and Kukui’s thoughts stopped dead in their tracks. He could see that he’d obviously been crying for a while, his throat straining to keep from sobbing and his eyes red and almost glassy. “I’m not good enough for anyone,” his voice was a hoarse, barely audible whisper, and Kukui’s eyes widened a little bit.

                “… Why didn’t you just say that?” He tried to be angry about it, still, but his emotions were everywhere—he was ecstatic that Guzma wasn’t going to have to go home, terrified for what this meant for him in the long run, upset that Guzma wouldn’t let Kukui tell anyone and solve it for him, and angry that Guzma continued to leave Kukui out of _everything_ and only told him things after the fact.

                “I’m scared.” Guzma was still taller than him, and Kukui thought he might always be taller than him, but right now he seemed so small, the vast sea behind him, the wind blowing his voice away as he spoke, the trees towering over him… He wiped his face with a sleeve, and tried to ignore the blood that ran down his upper lip from his raw nose.

                Kukui didn’t know what else to do, so he did what always worked for him—he took pulled Guzma tightly into his body, the boy flinching upon first contact with the hug. He held him there for a while, running thick fingers through his overgrown black hair as Guzma slouched over and sob openly into his shoulder.

                “It’ll be okay.” Kukui felt uneasy, too, and wasn’t sure exactly _how_ it was going to turn out okay, but he hoped that Tapu Koko was watching and could settle it for them both, somehow.

\---

                They set up camp early that night, both feeling uncharacteristically tired from Guzma’s confession. Freckle climbed a tree with a corner of the tarp and helped to spin a web to hang it from, while Pebble helped to drive the stakes into the corner of the makeshift tent. Scuttlebutt was able to tighten Freckle’s web quickly, and Guzma and Kukui busied themselves with a small fire pit out of the way of the wind. Kukui took out a can of some sort of pasta and sauce with a cheerful portrait of Crabrawler on the front, before searching through his pack for a can opener. His frown deepened the further he looked.

                “I was in such a hurry I forgot the can opener!” Kukui whispered, before seeing Guzma zip open his own backpack and pulling out a chef’s knife, glistening off of the fire.

                “I’ve got it.” Guzma motioned for the can, carefully sinking the butt of the blade into the can and working his way around it. The size of the knife and how carelessly Guzma handled it sent a wave of panic through Kukui—especially as he opened the can, blade facing towards himself.

                “You’re not suppose to point the knife at yourself!” Kukui criticized, and Guzma shot him a look.

                “I got it open for you. You’re _welcome_.” He dumped the contents into the pot that Kukui had packed, heating up their dinner as the sun began to set.

\---

                They made it within sight of the rocky base to Route 3 by the third day, making good progress. The Island Challenge, heading to the Verdant Cavern, turned out to be very similar to what they had already been doing. They stopped at a small creek and decided to take the rest of the day off to enjoy the water, reminiscent of their summers spent by the beach. Neither could remember being this far away from some body of water for longer than a few days, and they were guaranteed to spend at least another week on the trial from this point.

                Kukui noticed a few slight bruises and scrapes along Guzma’s narrow shoulders and back as he took off his shirt, but he felt a bubble of relief when he realised he would get to see them leave and not come back this time. Guzma, on the other hand, was starting to notice that Kukui still had more than a little bit of “baby fat” (as he called it; Guzma was sure it was not) but small swells of muscle were beginning to form on his legs and arms, as well.

Pebble hated water and contented herself to keeping a watchful eye on the boys and Guzma’s Pokemon. Freckle didn’t particularly care for the water and mostly spent time posing at her reflection in the water, investigating her own patterning, but Scuttlebutt seemed overjoyed to be near water again, zipping along the rocky banks and riverbed.

                “Are those Fearow?” Kukui questioned, looking at a long, crooked beak peaking out of a rustling tree.

                “… Route 3 has a lot of bird Pokemon on it.” Guzma half-answered, looking at the same roosting Fearow and quickly recalling Scuttlebutt and Freckle. He looked at his two Pokeballs and sighed. “… I’m gonna have to get something else on my team. I don’t want them to get eaten.”

                “Pebble can take them! She’s good at taking down birds…. She’s a natural at it!”

                _That friend of yours is the only reason you even got half of those trophies. You and that stupid bug wouldn’t make it to third place even if they were the only ones competing! Why don’t you get a_ real _Pokemon and stop—_ Guzma shook his head, accidentally spraying Pebble with water droplets.

                “We gotta be able to handle birds on our own, too.” He _knew_ Kukui would leave him, eventually, after all, and having more than three Pokemon between them would be good while they were still together. It didn’t matter right then, though, because the sun was beginning to set and Guzma and Kukui were more than satisfied to enjoy the creek until they finally had to set up for the night.

\---

                Pebble handled the rocky mountain path much better than Kukui himself did, her rock typing helping her handle rocky outcroppings with grace and dignity. Her moves also proved to be a huge advantage, taking down scrappy Spearow without a second glance. On the trip up, he caught a Rufflet—it was strong enough to handle a battle against Pebble and leave them both exhausted, and knew it would be a great addition to his team. The small bird still puffed its chest upon capture, stubbornly refusing to back down—he had offered a few berries to the bird and smiled as it begrudgingly ate them. “I’m gonna call you…” He paused, trying to think of a name, before coming up with a better idea—he would let Guzma name it, even though he hated birds and bird-type Pokemon. Maybe Guzma would let him name one of his Pokemon, too!

                The exhausted and newly formed trio set up in a designated campsite just off the path. The three huddled together in Kukui’s tarp and heated berries for dinner. It felt lonely, almost, without Guzma, but he knew that Guzma was right—Pebbles was going into this with a strong advantage, and Scuttlebutt didn’t stand a chance against many of the birds. He had stayed behind to find something that he swore was going to beat Pebble in an honest fight, and Kukui smiled at the prospect—he had one of those very birds that Guzma was so worried about right in his pocket, now!  

\---

                Guzma did come up the mountainside the next day, nervous about his team and how it might fare on the new terrain. Scuttlebutt did best on smooth, even terrain, and the boisterous new Pokemon he had caught only served to make Scuttlebutt more anxious, but it also stood the best chance against the bird types they were sure to encounter. A balanced team would serve him better—and Scuttlebutt had to get over his anxiety someday. He’d already gotten comfortable with Pebble and Kukui, both far more active than Guzma or Freckle.

                Meowth moved with a surprising grace, almost giddy to take down half of the bird Pokemon they encountered, and Guzma kept Scuttlebutt and Freckle carefully away from other particularly frightening foes while his Munchlax—Ramsey—took the brunt of the attacks without any trouble. The group slowly made their way up the mountainside by moonlight—Guzma figured most of his team felt more comfortable at night, and he stood a chance of catching up to Kukui this way, too. Sure enough, by the time he saw the rosy hues of the sun climbing into the sky, he saw a yellow tarp pitched just off the trail. _Kukui._

                He was too exhausted to consider it could be anyone else—after all, other people would be working on the challenge, too, and it wasn’t like a yellow tarp was unusual, with the Hau’oli markets only selling a few colours to begin with. He simply crawled inside, thankful that it _was_ Kukui’s tarp, and settled himself to sleep—he had pulled an all-nighter to make it here, after all.

                Kukui blearily comprehended the boy sneaking into his shelter, giving a smile and a half-incoherent welcome. “Guzmorning, Goodma….” He yawned, rolling over slightly. Guzma was already passed out, and he slept well into the morning, even through Kukui and Pebble rousing themselves from their own sleep and starting a light breakfast. He wasn’t sure if he should save some for Guzma or not—would it be cold by the time he woke up? _Did he stay up all night to make it here?_ The older boy didn’t seem concerned with the sunlight shining brightly onto him, and Kukui didn’t mind him sleeping in the least.

                When Guzma woke up, it was well into the afternoon, and he visibly startled when he realized he didn’t know where he was—he saw a journal, a few berries, and a small note in handwriting he recognized, and remembered that he had made it to Kukui’s tarp last night.

                _I left some berries for you and your Pokemon. I have a new one too. We went to go exploring a little bit. See you soon! – K_

\---

                They went through the last part of the journey together, nervous that the Trial Captain, a young woman by the name of Hina, who wore her hair in a bun and favoured Dark types, would not allow them.  Instead, she seemed ecstatic about the idea, mentioning that she would _love_ to see two kids take on both totem Pokemon together—something that she wasn’t sure had ever happened before. But first, the two had to defeat all of the Pokemon within the cave system to draw them out.

                It was a straightforward challenge of just battling, and Guzma was relieved to see that Scuttlebutt and Freckle could finally fight to their full potential, as the primary occupants of the cave were Rattata and Yungoos. Occasionally, one would return to the nest and come back out with a berry as an attempt to help restore health to its allies, but once his Munchlax had caught sight of the stash, he had set himself down to help himself. Kukui couldn’t stifle a laugh as the heavy Pokemon steadily ignored the cries and attacks of angry Yungoos and Rattata, content with its newfound feast.

                His Rufflet—which Guzma had decided to name Archibald for him—was able to work well with Pebble, supplying him with small rocks to send towards the wild Pokemon while safely in the air. Soon, the remaining Pokemon ran off in defeat, and the two tended to their Pokemon’s wounds—and Guzma finally took Ramsey away from his treasure by returning him to his ball. As twilight broke in the caves, golden lighting bouncing off of plants and crystals and leaving an absolutely otherworldly hue, the two heard the cries of two new Pokemon echo throughout the caves. The Totem Pokemon.

                One moved in the emerging darkness as one, all teeth and jet-black fur glossy in the remaining light. The other was more calculating in its movements, browns and golds shimmering as it stood to its full, dramatic height. A Raticate and a Gumshoos, both of astounding size and a shocking beauty, covered in scars and gnarled with experience. They cried out in unison, and Hina watched with fascination as the two boys prepared themselves.

                “Pebble, you got this.”

                “Scuttlebutt… I’m counting on you, okay?”

                They were far more challenging than anything else they had faced so far, Pebble’s Rock Throw doing very little to the Gumshoos other than to annoy it. Pebble leaped out of the way of angry claws, nervous. Scuttlebutt fared surprisingly well, the Raticate’s wide body unable to turn quickly enough to land anything on the small bug, tripping up its feet. Scuttlebutt scrambled onto the back, sharp mouthparts sinking into the mass of flesh near the neck and shoulders and holding on. It let out a roar, trying to buck off the bug or use the plentiful rocky outcroppings to scrape him off—but Scuttlebutt deftly moved, treating the Raticate like it was a mechanical toy ride and not a serious battle.

                Guzma glanced over to the Gumshoos, and motioned to Kukui that Pebble should run between the legs and towards the rampaging Raticate. The Gumshoos quickly followed after the small dog-like Pokemon, noticing too late that Scuttlebutt had pulled the Raticate away from the wall and tugged the heavy weight towards the Gumshoos. The two collided, Scuttlebutt jumping off onto a small rock and watching the ensuing scene. The Raticate, exhausted from the battle with Guzma’s Wimpod, lay on top of the Gumshoos without a sign of moving. The Gumshoos struggled under the weight, finally pulling itself out and slinking back into the darkness with a small limp, and the Raticate eventually righted itself and made its best effort to fit into a particularly large Rattata hole.

                They’d just finished the first Island Trial, with a small stamp and crystal from Hina proving their determination. Both boys took the time to clean up their Pokemon, brushing sand off and buffing out a scuff in Scuttlebutt’s shell. They just needed to face Hala, and then they would be officially done with Melemele’s island trials.

\---

                Kukui and Guzma continued along the rocky mountain path, making a slow, wide circle around the island. Kukui insisted that they at least _look_ at Melemele Meadow as they passed by, and the two ended up spending another day just taking in the sights. Kukui caught a Cutiefly, a bright pink against the yellow flowers and unlike the dozens of others they had seen, while Guzma found a small crawlspace that led them to Kala’e bay. Tourists littered the shore, and the two battled a few of them, adrenaline still running high from their joint success against the Totem Pokemon of Verdant Cave.

                They enjoyed the sunset on the water, sprawled out on Kukui’s tarp and eating a few berries Guzma had stowed away in his pack before setting up camp on a secluded corner of the beach, though a few tourists had also set up within a short distance. They could make their way back through Melemele Meadow tomorrow, back down Route 1, and end up near Iki Town… or Ten Karat Hill. Kukui had wanted to stop home for at least a few days, and Guzma tried to not let the pang of jealousy hit him as hard as it did as they talked, darkness enveloping their campsite and drowsiness overcoming the both of them. At some point, they drifted to sleep mid-conversation, tucked comfortably in their sleeping bags.

\---

_“You mean you actually won something with that thing?” His dad’s voice was straining to be nice for once, but Guzma could tell there was genuine appreciation in it, somewhere. “Maybe I was wrong about you two. I’m sorry, Guzma. It’s just that I want you to end up better than I did—I can’t even win a golf game, let alone a whole tournament! I guess I didn’t realise how far you and that Scuttle… scuttlething came.” Guzma smiled, split lip finally healed and feeling fulfilled._

_“Scuttlebutt! His name is Scuttlebutt. I also got a Spinarak and a Meowth and a Munchlax! They all helped!” He was ecstatic, the smell of fresh-baked berry bread making his stomach growl._

_“A Meowth? I always wanted one of those! They’re so cute with their little whiskers…” His mom cooed over the cat-like Pokemon, purring at her. “Can he stay here, sweetie? I love him!”_

_“Sure! As long as I can come visit!”_

_The Meowth startled and lashed out at his mother, small claws tearing across her face, breaking the skin. He watched with horror as blood poured from her face._

_“Guzma! What the hell is wrong with you?! Your stupid fucking Pokemon is going to kill her!” His dad’s voice boomed, but Guzma stayed motionless, seeing his mother’s eyes lock with his and blood come pouring out of her faster. The wounds seemed to grow and spread and fester, his father’s voice getting loud and louder to accompany it._ This is all your fault! You can’t even win something without screwing it up somehow!

_“Mom!” He felt a sob tear through his chest. “Mom!” He felt on fire, he felt blood falling down his own face as his father struck him, but he couldn’t quite feel it, feeling drugged and sluggish, just acknowledged that he was on the ground, that the world was getting more red and he could feel the sticky aroma of blood travelling down his throat, coating his hands, and—_

                Guzma woke with a start, jolting upright and scaring the sleeping Pebble who had curled between the two boys as they slept. The Rockruff gave a small whine and Guzma quieted her with a pat on the head as he shifted out of his sleeping bag and pointed himself towards the coast. Pebble, not entirely trusting the youth, walked alongside him, warily eyeing the boy. He was shaking slightly in the cool ocean breeze, donning nothing more than an undershirt and shorts, but he had felt like he was burning alive during… whatever _that_ was. He felt like throwing up a little bit and brought a hand to his face and throat to make _sure_ it was just a dream. It had to have been.

                Pebble let out a gruff warning bark as Guzma walked ankle deep into the sea, with seemingly no response. Guzma lazily pulled up a finger to quiet the Rockruff, digging his toes further into the sand. It was soothing, in a way, the sand all moving as a single mass. No single grain stuck out of the crowd with bruised arms, no grain of sand was holding everyone around him behind… it was all just a weightless sensation. At some point he had sat down, his shorts becoming increasingly wet, but he really didn’t care. He rested back on his arms, eventually sliding down until his entire back was in the sand, waves washing over part of him. The moon was giant in the sky, glowing and white, glaring down at him, and all the grains of sand. Pebble whined behind him before giving another warning bark. He sat up, slightly, feeling the sand and water sticking to his back and the cold breeze bringing a chill as he quieted the dog again.

                “Pebble, I’m just trying to…” He sat up straighter, pulling his knees up and out of the water. “… I don’t know what I’m trying to do.” He sounded distant, and the Rockruff turned her head to the side quizzically. “… I don’t know why I thought you’d understand.” Guzma sighed, resting his chin on his now-frigid knees. _Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I’m cold._ He looked back up to the moon and the stars surrounding it. They were all there during the day, too, weren’t they?

                “Do you think there really is a guardian of the moon? It’s… so far away.” _Would it care about us at all? Would it mind if we just lived there?_ He tried to keep his mind off of the nightmare, musing aloud to Pebble, but suddenly the hot, burning feeling was back at his right foot and slowly—

                Pebble growled and barked at the creature making a slow pace at Guzma’s foot, and Guzma let out a yelp—probably waking up more than a few campers, but _what the hell is that_ ran through his mind before the rational part of his brain took over. He pried the purple and blue mass of off his foot, backing up and tumbling into the sand. Pebble’s fur stood on end and her lip curled up, trying to make herself seem larger than she was. The creature looked almost alien as it slowly steadied itself in the sand, tentacles slowly dragging it back upright. It let out a cry, and Guzma wondered if he was still having his nightmare. Looking around, he only noticed the yellow tarp of their tent, billowing slightly in the breeze, Pebble, himself, and this _thing._

If it was a dream or not, it wouldn’t hurt to try and catch the Pokemon anyway.  He fished around in a pocket for a Pokeball, ignoring the chill on his back and the ache in his foot. Whatever it was readily accepted the white Premier ball—the only one he happened to still have on him. He put it back into the pocket of his baggy shorts, dusting off the back and taking off his sandy undershirt as he made his way back to the tarp. It certainly got his mind off other things, at least.

\---

                The next day Guzma was exhausted—he still hadn’t slept particularly well (the sand probably had a lot to do with it), and whatever that _thing_ was left a sharp sting on his foot. But at least he knew it was real, he guessed. They had made it back through Melemele Meadow, Guzma stopping to collect a few stems and delicately lacing them into the mesh of his bag. It was mostly to keep them unharmed until they at least got to Iki Town, but the sweet smell was definitely a bonus to him, Kukui, and their Pokemon.

                It took another two days to make it to Iki Town, where the two boys made it to Kukui’s house. Hala greeted them from across the village square, bringing Kukui into one of his chokeholds of a hug and giving a warm greeting to Guzma.

                “There you boys are. I was worried we’d have to send someone out after ya if you took much longer!” Hala gave a hearty laugh, patting them both on the back. His large hand almost sent Guzma toppling forward, but Guzma caught himself in time. “How did it go? Do you have more Pokemon? Any fresh new experiences?”

                Hala walked them inside as they—Kukui, mostly—told him the story of their first real adventure, nearly two weeks in the wild of Melemele. They were, of course, silently supervised and the trainers they battled along the way to the challenge were more than aware of what to do if the boys seemed to be in any legitimate danger. Hala seemed impressed that neither boy needed to trek to a cabin or Pokecenter prematurely to rest their Pokemon.

                “So, are you ready to take me on?” There was a silence in the air as the two questioned if he was really serious about taking them on. Guzma could still feel the grit of sand and salt in his messy hair, Kukui could feel the dull ache in his legs and feet from the days of travel, and they both gave a weak shake of the head.

                “I just wanna take a nap.” Kukui huffed, and Guzma nodded.

                “And a shower.”

                “… And I’m assuming a big meal, right?” At that, both boys perked up significantly, grinning. Cup noodles, canned food, and berries were hardly the ideal diet, and they had nearly gone through all of their supply anyway. As if the punctuate their point, their stomachs growled in unison, and Hala let out one of his signature hearty laughs. “I’ll get started.”

\---

                They both, somehow, wore the same size clothes—Guzma’s height and Kukui’s girth seemed to cancel out to the same shirt size, and Guzma needed to borrow a belt to keep Kukui’s shorts on him following his shower, but otherwise looked just as at home in his clothes as in his own. Normally he didn’t particularly care for showers, trying to shrug them off for as long as he good, but it felt good, he admitted, to actually _shower_ and not just rinse off in a stream or with some bottled water poured over his head. The meal on the table looked better than usual, colourful berries and vegetables decorating the rice and grains, the meat shining with a delicate glaze, and side dishes placed in small bowls and plates dotting the table. The trio blessed Tapu Koko for their meal and safe return of the island challenge, and Guzma felt like he would surely never have a meal as beautiful as this again, quickly grabbing for everything to shovel it into his mouth.

                After the meal, they both slept, too exhausted from their journey to do much else. Guzma stayed in the guest room this time, at Hala’s urging. “I’d feel awful if you slept in a sleeping bag again,” he had insisted, and Guzma was too tired to argue. He let his Pokemon out to rest with him—except for the strange newcomer, who he would have to ask Hala about when he woke up—and they happily curled around him. It would have been slightly more comforting if more of his Pokemon were warm-blooded and not covered in a cold exterior, but Guzma didn’t mind either way. Maybe providing heat for them was a way of giving back for all they did for him.

\---

                The next morning, Hala identified Guzma’s unusual catch as a Mareanie, a rather uncommon sight in Melemele seas. It was a poison and water-type, which Guzma could appreciate, and he finally introduced himself to the creature properly, apologizing for his first interaction. The tentacled beast swayed in response, but didn’t otherwise make much motion to acknowledge Guzma. It still creeped him out, a little, but he was going to do his best to give it a shot. He’d figure out a nickname for it later, once he got a feel for what it was really like.

                Once Kukui woke up, the two immediately began considering their next route—would they go to Ten Karat Hill and train, first, or take on Hala and see how much more they really needed to train to begin with? Their strategies had definitely grown in their challenge, and they might have been able to take him in a double battle, but Hala insisted that his challenge was designed to be one-on-one.

                “Guzma, don’t you think you should check in with your parents before you go any further?” Hala interrupted them, both for lunch and to pose a suggestion to the two, though neither of them was particularly fond of the idea. “I can let you borrow my Tauros if you wanted to get there quickly.”

                “Um…” Guzma seemed at a lost for words, rubbing at his wrists. It wasn’t that he had forgotten about his family—he doubt if he ever could—but he had definitely grown comfortable to his new lifestyle. Kukui also looked at Guzma, anxiously, as if to ask _can I tell him?_ before Guzma shot him a pointed glare. “… I’m gonna wait for my laundry to be done first if that’s okay.”

                Hala nodded and smiled, and the two followed him to the dining table. Truthfully, he had known that Guzma ran away—he played golf with Hoku and Guzma’s father, and his father seemed nearly beside himself the following few days, especially when Hala had said that Kukui left on the Island Challenge already. His wife noticed a large knife was missing from the kitchen, and all three of them knew that Guzma was prone to outbursts, sometimes violent.  He didn’t pretend to know everything that was going on in Guzma’s life that might have forced him to make such a rash decision, but he did know that it would bring peace to his family to know that Guzma was alive and healthy, even if Guzma didn’t resign himself to staying there.

\---

                They decided that Guzma would bring his mother some of the flowers from Melemele Meadow—he had originally plucked them while thinking of her, after all—and do his best to leave on a good note. It didn’t make him any less anxious about the fact, especially when Kukui told him he’d meet him back at Hala’s place to finish packing up everything they’d need for Ten Karat Hill. He _wanted_ to do it alone, to make it more genuine, but something in the air was making his chest tighten uncomfortably.

                “Okay, buddy, remember—you gotta be there for my mom. Don’t hurt her.” The Meowth looked up at him expectantly, annoyed with the gaudy, lopsided bow Guzma had put around its neck. “She’s really important, okay?” He felt like he couldn’t stress it enough to the Meowth. “Whatever she calls you, that’ll be your name.” He had switched the Pokeball from a typical model to a Luxury Ball, black with gold and ruby accents—he knew it would be spending a lot of time in its ball and could afford to spend some of his battling money on something more comfortable for the dark type.

                Clouds were rolling in, and Guzma rushed to get to his house before it started to pour—he couldn’t let this be ruined by rain. It was going to be the last time he saw his mom, and he loved her too much to hand her a pile of wet flowers and a slippery Pokeball in a rainstorm before fucking off. _She would understand. She understands._

                He hadn’t accounted for the fact that a thunderstorm would cancel a golf tournament his father had been waiting all season for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, if there's any issues or something doesn't make sense-- please let me know! I'm a huge perfectionist and a huge advocate for criticism. I'm fixing a few grammatical errors in chapter 1 as I upload this as well.
> 
> I'll try and upload once a week, but I can't guarantee that'll stay regular, as I'm kinda heavy on work this winter break!


	3. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guzma runs away and Kukui follows.

                Freckle was at Kukui’s doorway with a letter—the all-capital, large scrawl could only have been Guzma’s, and he frowned when he noticed Guzma wasn’t with his Spinarak.

                “Where’s Guzma?” The bug-type repositioned herself, and Kukui briefly wondered why he asked. Freckle probably knew, but he doubt she would be able to articulate where he had gone. Instead, he turned his attention to the wet scrap of paper in his hands.

                _IT DIDN’T GO WELL. I CAN’T STAY ON MELEMELE. MEET ME AT AKALA ISLAND WHEN YOU’RE FINISHED.  –G_

_P.S. TAKE CARE OF FRECKLE. SCUTTLEBUTT AND RAMSEY ARE WITH ME._

                Kukui thumbed the piece of paper in his hand, looking for another page or some sort of extra note. The sloppy _IT DIDN’T GO WELL_ didn’t mesh very well with the washed out red droplets on part of the paper. Freckle had started to pace on the floor below him.

                “… Freckle, is—is Guzma okay?” The green creature looked up at him, and he mentally cursed Guzma for giving him a _bug_ as a messenger, with a beady gaze that could hardly express emotion. Did Spinaraks even blink? He wanted to assume Guzma was going to be fine, but he also had a track record of running away _specifically_ because he was not fine, and Kukui found himself pacing with the bug. It was storming tonight, too—hardly idea conditions to be making your way to the next island, but Guzma was stubborn enough that he probably somehow managed that, too.

                The phone rang in another room—the one reserved for emergencies and Kahuna business—and distantly, Kukui could hear a conversation Hala was having. He kept his ears pricked for any mention of Guzma, or about a child, or anything that might have to do with Guzma being _okay_ and not laying in a ditch dying somewhere.

                He folded and unfolded the piece of paper in his hands, worrying at his lip. Why couldn’t Pokemon talk? Why couldn’t Guzma just be direct? Why did he have to run away and not tell Kukui until after the fact? What did he mean by “it didn’t go well?” Was Guzma okay? Was Guzma still alive? He should have gone with him to his parents’ house—he should have told Hala that Guzma didn’t need to go, he should have done _something_ and not let it get to this point. Guzma was probably out there, somewhere, bleeding, and cold, and it was going to be his fault if he lost his friend to this.

                “Kukui.” Hala’s voice was stern and Kukui looked up to him. “Where’s Guzma?”

                “I… I dunno.”

                “Isn’t that his Spinarak?”

                “Yeah. Her name’s Freckle.”

                “Kukui, I need you to tell me the truth. Do you know where Guzma is?”

                “I don’t know!” Kukui slammed his hand onto the table, trying to make himself look intimidating. “I don’t know where Guzma is! If I knew, I’d be—I’d be out looking for him right now!”

                “No.” Hala interrupted him, voice firm. “No, I wouldn’t let you.” Kukui turned to look at him, more shocked than upset that Hala wouldn’t let him look for his best friend. What kind of father figure would be content to just let his friend fade into obscurity? “Guzma—Guzma attacked his father. He’s in the hospital right now. I didn’t realise how dangerous he was. I’m sorry.” Kukui grit his teeth, tears welling up at the announcement.

                “Why did you ask if I knew where Guzma was if you knew he was in the hospital?!” Kukui stood up, shooting a piercing gaze at Hala. “We have to go see him!”

                “No—Kukui. His dad is in the hospital. Guzma attacked him. I had no idea he was—he was capable of something like that. I never would have let you travel with him had I thought he would—“

                “No.” Kukui’s inflection was flat, and it was his turn to talk. “Hala.”

                “Is that Guzma’s handwriting?” The kahuna looked at Kukui and the letter in his hand, recognizing a child’s scrawl on it. He made a grab for it, and Kukui pulled it away, stepping away from the table.

                “Hala, listen to me. Guzma isn’t— _he’s_ not the dangerous one. His dad is.” Guzma wasn’t there to stop him, and he hated to break a promise, but it didn’t matter anymore, did it? Did it ever matter? “He… he hurt Guzma. A lot.” Somehow the words felt lame, falling to the floor helplessly. _Hurt_ didn’t seem to cover it, not when he’d seen missing teeth and black eyes and a sort of edge to his voice that no one else in school had when they talked. “Whatever Guzma did was… … he deserved it.”

                “What? I’ve played golf with his father for yea—“ Hala was interrupted by the furious tapping of Freckle, who had decided to join the conversation.

                “His dad hit him, and called him names, and he made Guzma run away. He’s a bad person.” Kukui still didn’t believe that Guzma had managed to put his father in the _hospital_ and his gut twisted at the thought of what condition Guzma must have been in. “He hurt Guzma again. I don’t know—I don’t know where he is or what shape he’s in but—Guzma didn’t attack him for no reason.”

                Hala wondered if he should still be the Kahuna for allowing it to happen so long and never picking up on it until it had been far too late. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he thought about how, ultimately, it was his fault—he was the grand authority on the island, to the boys, and he had put Guzma up to going home. He wouldn’t forgive himself if anything serious had happened to Guzma. _Tapu Koko, I’m sorry I failed them. Please forgive me._

\---

                He was doctor-certified _fucked up_ , at least, as far as the ship’s nurse (or, as she stressed, nurse-in-training, to be clarified with a qualified doctor, later) could say. He lied about an encounter with a feral Tauros, not really expecting her to believe him in the least, especially with her steely gaze—he felt like there was a golf club-shaped indent in his face, so clear you could probably read the brand on his eyelid and hear his dad’s voice if you listened closely enough. Instead, he had the curve of the putter sliced into his skin, from the end of his eyebrow to the corner of his eye and held together with a stupid amount of stitches. There were stitches in his bottom lip, too, a small, tooth-sized slot that must have been from whenever he lost his tooth. Guzma ran his tongue over the newly formed gap in his teeth, still not sure exactly what had happened, or when, exactly, he’d gotten on the boat in the first place. It was mostly his face, though—other than bruises and scrapes and two broken ribs, his body was fine.

                Guzma tried his best not to puke—his stomach was a mix of seasickness, anxiety, and the last bits of adrenaline that had brought him here. Sticking to the theme of the night, he did _not_ do his best, and he proceeded to vomit over the side of the boat, tears pricking at his eyes. _I can’t do this._ He felt like a caged animal and not like a person anymore, sitting on a hunk of metal in the middle of the sea and only the clouds and low rumble of thunder providing any context for what he had just experienced. Would Kukui meet him? How would he know where to find him? If he just threw himself overboard, would anyone care?

                “Are you doing alright?” The nurse-in-training asked—he wasn’t sure when she got there, or when he had ended up slumped against the railing, head poking through the bars to the dark, impossibly dark ocean below.

                “Seasick,” was all he could mutter before her calloused hands helped him back to a standing position, legs shaking.

                “Let’s go into the cabin, okay, Guzma? It’ll be easier to deal with in there.” He felt like a little kid being taken into his room, even though she was only slightly older than him, but he accepted without much resistance. It felt a little nice, and the nurse—Pi’ilani was her name, he remembered—had given him medication to help ease his stomach and to help with his pain.

                Well-manicured nails tucked black strands of hair behind his ear as he curled into his pillow, and she sighed. She would have given him a lecture about lying to medical practitioners, but she wasn’t one _yet_ and he clearly had already been through a lot that night. She didn’t want to put him at risk by making him stay on Melemele, even though a proper hospital would have been the best thing for his injuries. By chance she had been in the lobby, feeding coins into the vending machine for a soda when he had shown up, blood matting his hair and a huge Pokemon escorting him through the lobby, a sizeable dent in the shell. It was a small commotion, the Pokemon—Golisopod?—preventing any of the few people of the late night lobby from getting close to the boy, huddled in a hoodie and pushing a wad of bills towards the counter and pointing at a pamphlet about Akala island. She took him in, carefully, his Pokemon watching her every move and gripping him possessively as they made their way to the nursing station on board.

\---

                The ferry to Akala Island only took four hours, and it took half that long for his nausea to settle and the painkillers to kick in and he was finally able to actually try and enjoy the journey. He started with flinging the driver’s license off the side of the boat and watching the plastic card float before being swallowed by the ocean, continuing with everything else he couldn’t use in the plain black wallet. Receipts, photos, and personal identification dotted the dark seas before disappearing forever. It was going to be a _real_ pain in the ass to get everything back, and it only made Guzma all the giddier for it. Whatever painkillers Pi’ilani had given him were _good_ and he could hardly feel any pain from his injuries, even though he’d had to plaster gauze pads over his stitches to keep from itching them right out of his face.

                Heahea city wasn’t as large as Hau’oli—he could see the trees and the wilds of Route 4 expanding outwards, but he could also see the large resort hotels and a few other buildings stretching into the sky, reminiscent of his hometown. Vaguely, he wondered if he would ever go back to Hau’oli; he knew he had to challenge Hala to complete the Island Trial, but felt nauseated at the concept. It was a big island, and Hau’oli was the largest city in Alola, but he still felt a tug in his heart that told him it wouldn’t matter. His parents would find him if he went back.

                “Guzma?” Guzma startled, not realizing that Pi’ilani had gotten off the boat with him. “Do you need a place to stay?”

                He swallowed, not sure how to answer. Where _was_ he going to stay? The city was dark, and he doubted if any hotels had an opening for a displaced 12 year old past midnight. How was he going to make sure Kukui could find him when he got here? He couldn’t just sit outside the marina for weeks, and he couldn’t just make his way to the next town, either.

                “You look like got into some trouble,” She said as plainly as she could, trying to gauge his response. He looked at her, eyes wide and body bracing to run—but he was already so tired, and he was supposed to keep it easy for a while, and Pi’ilani crouched down to his level to place a hand on his shoulder. His face felt hot and he wondered why he thought it would just be that simple—that he’d be able to just get on a boat and not have to deal with the consequences. He didn’t really expect it to confront him this early on, though.

                “You don’t have to tell me what happened, Guzma. Let me find you somewhere to stay, okay? You have to get your stitches out in a week, so you can stay in Heahea until then.” She spoke in gentle tones, trying to keep the boy grounded.

                “I’m—I’m waiting for a friend.” Heahea felt as large as the ocean itself at that moment, ready to swallow him alive, surrounded by the paraphernalia of his father’s spending habits. Her hand lifted from his shoulder and he felt his swimming thoughts start to lift.

                “If you tell me his name, I can help you. I work on the ship from Melemele to Akala, and I know all of the lobby staff—I can make sure he finds you, but I have to know where you’re staying and I have to know that you’re safe, okay?”

\---

                Pi’ilani had rented a hotel room for him near Hano Beach—it was not the largest or most luxurious hotel, but it was comfortable and more than adequate for Guzma and his Pokemon. He still didn’t know why she did it, expecting her to drag him back to Melemele Island or to the Kahuna of the island, not to _help_ him run away. He let Scuttlebutt out of his ball, finally, as he started to run warm water into the bath basin.

                “Let’s get ya cleaned up, buddy.” Guzma had to stand on the toilet to reach the top of Scuttlebutt, now, towering over him with warm, inky black eyes.  “It took a while.” He ran a warm towel over the Golisopod’s shell, rubbing off the dirt and smudges of blood that remained on his claws and the thick segmented scales along his back. His hands stopped at a dent on his back, just over the right shoulder, frowning as he took in the sight.

                “… Thanks for back there.” Scuttlebutt gurgled happily, and used his large clawed arms to lift Guzma up. Bug types weren’t generally known for their expressiveness, but Guzma could have sworn that the Golisopod was smiling at him as it brought him in for a hug. Six arms flinched back when Guzma cringed, setting the boy gingerly on the ground and looking at him with worry and apologies in his face, mouthparts clicking nervously.

                “Not your fault.” Guzma mumbled, poking at his side. “It would have been worse if you hadn’t…” He eyed the dent in the shell again, shaking his head of the rest of his thoughts before hugging the soft midsection of Scuttlebutt, who wrapped his arms around Guzma protectively.

\---

                When she dropped Guzma off at the hotel, he seemed exhausted and she had left to let him sleep. The following morning, thankful that her schedule aligned, she came in to check on him, two cups of Tapu Cocoa in hand—a cold front had ridden on the heels of the unusual storm in Melemele, and while it hardly got what many in Johto or Kalos would consider _cold_ in Alola, the temperature drop was a rather rude awakening to many. Her Salandit seemed reluctant to go out, pulling herself into a tight coil in her bed. Pi’ilani shrugged it off and found company in Guzma that morning instead.

They may not have been related, but she felt a connection in a shared story: she had run away from home, too, and quietly admitted it over the cocoa. Guzma didn’t pry for her story and she didn’t pry for his, and they both preferred it this way. He murmured a quiet “thanks,” kicking his feet absentmindedly from his position off the side of the bed. She’d made an appointment for him to see an actual doctor for a second opinion of his injuries and not just be content with a nurse-in-training, too, but Guzma was definitely more appreciative of the cocoa. Stitches on the lip were rough, and while they healed quickly, it was sometimes preferable to live off of liquids and soups instead of anything that might need more chewing—he’d figured that one out after trying to eat a hondew berry from his bag for dinner the night before.

“Tapu Cocoa is my favorite.” She had filed a quick mental note in case she ended up having to take care of him for longer than a few days.

Thankfully Pi’ilani only had to wait a day for said friend to show up—a short, chubby and tan kid in a yellow shirt and grey shorts, black hair messy and pulled back under a white cap, with a backpack that seemed almost twice his size. He looked around the lobby with a look of strange intensity for a twelve-year-old, seeming to be searching the entire city in a small, packed room of tourists.

                “Have you seen a kid about my age with—“ He addressed the room at large, half drowned out by the crowd getting off the ferries from both the Melemele and Ula’ula islands.

                “Kukui?” He whipped his head to look at her, and she loosely adjusted her work uniform. “Your friend Guzma told me to look for you.” She could have followed it up with a confession that she was a paid hitman (hitwoman?) and Kukui wouldn’t have cared.

                “Is he okay?!”

\---

                Pi’ilani guided Kukui through the bustling city, finally settling on a small, seaside hotel by Hano Beach. She had kept a key card on her, just in case, though she still gave a cursory knock for Guzma to answer to—she was trained for situations like this, trying to give him as much distance and time as he needed to recover but keeping herself available… and available to intervene in case of further incidents. Guzma answered the door, a spoon in his mouth and a bowl of some sort of cold sweetness on the small desk that came standard with all of the hotel rooms. Kukui couldn’t stop himself from barreling into the older boy, feeling two weak arms resist him with a surprising amount of force as he entered the room.

                “Broken ribs, Kukui,” Pi’ilani warned. The youngest of the two pulled back, suddenly, taking in Guzma’s condition. He was reeling a bit from the ambush of a hug, but he looked surprisingly _okay,_ his eye black and bruised on the one side, small dots of purple and yellow-green already working to fade away on the exposed skin of his collar and wrists. Stitches poked out of his eyebrow and lip, but pulled the wooden spoon from his mouth to give a grin and pull Kukui into a softer hug.

                “Pi’ilani told me everything!” Kukui burst out, keeping his hands on Guzma’s wrists, as if he worried he might run off again. “I mean, not everything—just that she fixed you up, and I mean, we’re on Akala Island! Isn’t that cool! I’ve never been off Melemele and…” Kukui seemed to be going a mile a minute, trying to follow Pi’ilani’s advice to _not_ bring up what happened, but still desperate to know what happened. “… you scared me, Guzma.”

                “Oh.” Guzma fumbled for an answer, trying to think of what to say. Was he supposed to apologise for that? Did Kukui think he wasn’t scared? He let a small silence fill the room before Pi’ilani interrupted.

                “Kukui.” The boy in question turned to look at her, standing just by the doorway. “I’m gonna give you the other key to the room, okay? Make sure Guzma sees the doctor by the end of the week about his stitches. I’ve got to get back to the harbor—”

                “Wait! Hold on…” Kukui dug in his bag, pulling out malasadas, camping gear, and rolled up bundles of clothes before pulling out two palm-sized grey-green devices. “I wanna register you to the pager! That way we can keep in touch!”

                “If you insist.” Pi’ilani gave a rare smile, putting her number in both devices. “If you guys get into trouble, go to a Pokecenter first.” She wasn’t really sure why she humored Kukui about entering her number—she doubted if she’d ever see the two again, really, but she felt some sort of kinship to Guzma, squatting on the floor by Kukui’s backpack to investigate the items Kukui had brought with him. She kind of hoped she would see them again, though hopefully under better circumstances.

\---

                They had another five days in Heahea before Guzma was due to get the stitches out, and they were determined to make the most of their time there, in a cozy motel room. Kukui had brought pagers, registered with a Tauros, Hala, and each other, along with food and a first aid kit, clearly unsure of what he would find when he met up with Guzma again. Mid-exploration of his bag, Kukui let out a surprised gasp and remembered to let Freckle out, the Spinarak excited to see her owner again, climbing up his chest to nuzzle his face, mindful of the stitches that rested there.

Kukui insisted on exploring the city to the fullest while they were stuck there anyway, his first point of interest being some sort of cultural center that explored the art and sculpture of the very first residents of Akala Island, and the first Pokemon they used—before there were Meowth or Yungoos and when Rockruffs like Pebble were larger and had coarser fur. Guzma couldn’t possibly imagine a way to care less about it, but he stuck around to watch Kukui animatedly point at every single thing on display.

The first thing Guzma introduced Kukui to was a small store tucked away in a less-packed part of the city. _GURI GURI_ was written in large, bubbly font over the storefront, a pair of Popplio painted onto the sides of the building and balancing what looked like some sort of ice cream concoction on their noses. The owners seemed to recognize Guzma and smiled as he ordered one of both flavors they had—pinap and mago. Kukui took a bite and realized that Guzma won this round of city exploration easily, the older boy beaming at him from across the table as he dug into his own. It was creamy and sweet with just a touch of tang, and Kukui wished it could travel as easily as malasadas or berries.

                They had also found a hobby in challenging the traveling and vacationing trainers to battles—many had never seen a Golisopod before, and Guzma beamed with pride at this. Kukui seemed quite impressed by Scuttlebutt’s new form, as well, and how the previously timid bug had become a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. If an attack landed, Scuttlebutt took little notice of it and simply threw the attacker off or readied an attack of his own against them. Old habits did die hard, though, and Scuttlebutt seemed keen to switch out in battles he had a disadvantage to, or in fights he would not win. Freckle and Mareanie more than easily picked up the slack for these battles, providing his opponents with the choice of a fast or slow envenomation. Guzma did, however, struggle with Ramsey in battle; Ramsey could take hits almost on par with Scuttlebutt, but hardly seemed motivated to attack, content to ignore the world around him, and it frustrated Guzma to see the Pokemon stand idly by.

                Kukui, on the other hand, had developed a stronger bond with Archibald and Pebble than he realised, the two working in tandem—even well-placed sand-attacks and smokescreens were unable to keep the two from landing attacks, Pebble’s speed and Archibald’s wings granting them an accuracy unseen to most. Diamond, his Cutiefly, tended to fare worse in the battles, her small size and weight causing her to be easily tossed and dismissed in the fray. Kukui recalled her before she could be hurt.

                As an experiment, the boys traded their weakest links to each other—Guzma liked bugs, after all, and his slower, ground-based Pokemon hardly stood a chance of blowing Diamond off the battlefield. Kukui could also benefit from a Pokemon with stronger defense, Pebble and Archibald being fairly vulnerable to stronger attacks when they did hit. Diamond shone in battles alongside Scuttlebutt, her speed and diminutive size helping her to land hits in the blink of an eye while Scuttlebutt easily took blows for her and prepared the heavier hits that often signaled the end of a battle. Kukui had simply given Archibald a berry, allowing the small bird to distract Ramsey and plant the lure into the hands of the enemy, where Ramsey would body slam them to try and retrieve it. They decided to make the trade permanent, welcoming the new addition to their team.

                Part of battling was the prize money, as well—the two made a tidy profit from battling foreigners, mostly from the Kanto and Kalos regions. Since the two had a few days left in Heahea, they decided to spend their profits on things they might not get to enjoy again once they left the city, namely food and a new look. They hadn’t gotten their hair cut since the beginning of the summer, and it was certainly starting to show—Guzma’s wild hair was pulled back into a ponytail, strands sticking up, and Kukui could only describe his head as looking like a Murkrow’s butt. Kukui’s own bangs were held out of the way with barrettes, though, and Guzma’s comment that he looked like a Primarina stung more than Kukui thought was particularly fair.

                While Kukui visited the salon, Guzma prowled the boutique next door, picking through new clothes and accessories—he wanted a pair of sunglasses to hide the stitches in his face, and the scar that would surely follow, but his dad’s wallet was also burning a hole in his pocket.

\---

                 “You look ridiculous,” Kukui teased, taking in Guzma’s newly bleached hair, gaudy reflective sunglasses, and a black leather jacket. “It suits you.”

                “You’re just jealous that I can rock this and you can’t,” Guzma quipped, flipping his sunglasses up onto his forehead. “Besides, isn’t the island challenge suppose to be about finding yourself? I found myself in this leather jacket.”

                Kukui couldn’t deny, it though; somehow, the streak of platinum blond on the top of his head, still tied up in that stupid Murkrow-butt ponytail, along with the reflective silver surface of his sunglasses and leather jacket, somehow pulled together on him. He didn’t want to think about how much Guzma had spent on everything. Kukui had decorated himself much more plainly (and cheaply, he assumed), opting to just buy a navy blue hoodie, decorated with a white all-over star pattern for the upcoming winter, the lowlands of Akala Island being slightly colder than Melemele and the highlands being significantly so. He’d also invested in a pair of new trekking shoes for the hiking they would probably be doing near the Wela Volcano Park, though he doubted if they were as expensive as the gleaming white shoes that Guzma had bought.

\---

                Once Guzma had his stitches removed, the two decided to commemorate their time in Heahea with Pi’ilani and a meal at a restaurant before they headed onto Route 4. The older girl seemed endeared by the two’s insistence that she join them, and she met them at a nice little pizza place by the marina for lunch before wishing them well on their way.

                Ahead of them, Route 4 stretched onward, the small ranch town of Paniola just to the north and the three island challenges awaiting the two boys, who felt that their challenge really, truly began from here, with new Pokemon, sights, and wonders to investigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! The Big Holidays are coming up and I might be a little bit late with chapter 4-- so I figured I'd upload chapter 3 a little ahead of my sporadic schedule.
> 
> I don't really have much to say in terms of notes about the story, though; Pi'ilani is a little bit older than Guzma and Kukui but still young enough to be doing the trials herself, so somewhere between 14-16. I took a little bit of liberty on being a nursing assistant, following roughly the age of Jessie in the anime trying to be a nurse around the same age, and with the assumption that a short ride from island to island wouldn't require a full team of surgeons or anything, with the worst incidents probably being seasickness or maybe a laceration, and with ride Pokemon, help could be transported to them much easier...
> 
> (I also removed Molayne's character tag-- I'll just start adding tags as they show up, sorry! I kind of expected to reach him by now haha <3)


	4. Battle Royal

                Paniola Town was a small, rustic village in the heart of the Akala lowlands— it burst out of Route 4, and Route 4 continued in and around it, the wild Mudbrays and domestic Tauros intermingling with little fuss.  It had only taken a day’s worth of travel to reach an inn, a charming wooden structure decorated with cacti and wagon wheels and barrels, and Kukui insisted that they rest there for the night—after all, even with his stitches removed, Guzma still had two broken ribs and wasn’t supposed to stress himself, though he insisted that he was fine. Pi’ilani had given him some painkillers that really helped to dull the sharp pain that shot through him when he took a deep breath, but seeing the effect when they wore off was enough for Kukui.

                “We can’t afford to stay in hotels for a month, Kukui,” Guzma huffed, ignoring the pain at his side. “We can just go slow and camp out, it’s all the same.”

                “It’s cheaper here than in Heahea city, anyway.” Kukui answered. “Once your bruises heal, how about that?” They’d already largely faded away—the worst was the black eye and the ugly spot over his ribs, but something felt _wrong_ to Kukui about letting Guzma sleep outside in the elements.

                “Fine, but you’re paying.” He settled into his half of the bed—it was cheaper to just buy a single room, the boys used to camping together in confined spaces, anyway—and released Scuttlebutt from his ball, a little jealous that Pebble was still of a reasonable enough size to travel outside of the ball. He petted the bug between its antennae, satisfied with the content gurgling, and pointedly ignored Kukui as he sighed.

                “I can take care of myself.” Guzma replied hotly to the exhalation, and Kukui put his hands up in an early surrender.

                “I never said that, Guzma.”

                “You were thinking it.” Guzma muttered, crossing his arms. Scuttlebutt looked at Guzma, confused, before also crossing his arms, unsure of how to respond. Kukui couldn’t help but smile at the Pokemon, though he was still more than a _little_ annoyed at his friend.

                “No, I was thinking that _you’re_ the one who spent practically his life’s savings on a stupid jacket.”

                “Oh, come on, it looks good, it’s going to last forever, and besides—dad’s the one who paid for it.” He tried his best to say the last statement with confidence, but it stumbled out of his mouth more as a half-confession than anything else, and Kukui looked at him quizzically.

                “What?”

                “I used my dad’s money.” Guzma said it prouder, this time, and held up the wallet as evidence.

                “ _What?_ ” The look on Kukui’s face told him that he didn’t find it as funny or deserving as Guzma did.

                “Come on, it’s not like… I mean, he deserved it, Kukui!” He tried to retort, but his mouth felt dry and his face felt hot, suddenly starting to second-guess himself. He hardly even remembered taking it that night—it was a blur of red and yelling and glints of silver in his memory, all merging into a cacophony of awful feelings. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and stood up, shooting a lopsided grin at his friend to prove his point. 

                “You can’t just steal someone’s _wallet_ , Guzma!”

                “Why do you even care? It’s not like it’s _your_ wallet.” Scuttlebutt—his own Pokemon—seemed confused about where to stand on the issue and uncrossed his six arms to look pointedly between the two. If he had an effective way to do so, he would have furrowed a brow, but instead he let out a sad, wet chirp, and Pebble concurred with a soft whine.

                “I care because it’s the right thing to do, Guzma. Even if they’re a bad person, it--”

                “Because trying to beat your son to death with a fuckin’ golf club is _totally_ the right thing to do, you’re right!” Guzma cut him off, glaring at him from behind his Golisopod’s shell.

                “Stop saying that!” Kukui stomped towards him, and Scuttlebutt looked more conflicted, if that was possible. The bug type looked between the two nervously before using his two largest limbs to build an artificial distance, thick armor pressing against both boy’s chests as he pushed them back and away from each other, giving a trilling noise as an attempt to scold them.

                “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought we wer—“ Scuttlebutt cut off Guzma by picking him up by the collar of his shirt with one of his smaller arms before he could reach over the claw barricade and get physical with Kukui. The cross-shaped pupils were narrowed in disappointment as he looked over his trainer, and seemed only slightly less so as he turned to look at Kukui. Scuttlebutt and Pebble shared a knowing gaze, the Rockruff pawing at Kukui’s leg to try and distract him.

                When Scuttlebutt finally let Guzma down, patting him on the head in a way that Guzma could only read as _condescending,_ he tried his best not to huff. Scuttlebutt was, despite all odds and appearances, apparently some sort of _pacifist_ and a _traitor_ , choosing to not take his own trainer’s side in the argument.

                Kukui felt unnerved by the knowledge, somehow—Guzma was right, his dad _was_ an asshole and if Guzma stole his wallet and money, it wouldn’t compare to what his dad did to him, but it was still _wrong_ , wasn’t it? Hala had said that his dad was in the hospital, after all, and even if he deserved that (did he?) it wouldn’t be fair for the people he needed to pay, would it? What about Guzma’s mom?

                “He’s not using it right now anyways.” Guzma mumbled from the bed, hugging a pillow against his chest and moping, still. Kukui resisted the urge to push for more details. He wanted to know, so he could help his friend, but he didn’t want to _pry_ and force his friend to talk about something painful. It hadn’t even been a week, and Guzma stayed completely silent on the subject when they talked. His face told him everything he needed to immediately know—the scar, the black eye, the missing tooth, the way that somehow, Guzma was fundamentally _different_ now that he was off Melemele. He could see something in his eyes that wasn’t there before—or maybe a lack of something that _had_ been there before.

\---

                Sharing a bed after the argument had been awkward. Guzma made sure that Kukui knew he was still _right_ , in his mind, at least, huffing and dramatically rolling over and taking more than half of the blanket with him. Kukui “accidentally” tangled his frigid feet in a way that caught under Guzma’s pajama pants and pretended to be deeply asleep as the older of the two struggled to get the cold toes off of his skin, letting his body fall to a dead weight on top of the struggling Guzma.

                Kukui did feel a little bad in the morning when Guzma woke up, hair more a mess than usual and bleary-eyed, clearly having not slept well, but then older boy shot him a dirty look and an even dirtier hand gesture and his guilt dissipated.

                The map he sprawled out on the wood surface of the vanity was dotted with annotations from the innkeeper and the map in the lobby— it didn’t look like there were motels or cabins within a fair distance, and even if Guzma pissed him off, he still felt _off_ about letting the older boy sleep in the woods with broken ribs and a bruised up face. He mused that they could spend the day training, call it an early night, wake up early, and make it to a trainer cabin elsewhere on Route 4, a little bit closer to the location of their first Island Challenge on Akala. Guzma took the opportunity to train with a renewed vigor, as if he would prove that he was _right_ to Kukui if he defeated him in battle.

                They hadn’t battled against each other in at least a year, and the fact stared them in the face as Scuttlebutt’s new form towered over Pebble—but Pebble stood taller than last year, with leaner limbs, the curl in her tail relaxing, and her ruff starting to grow into a full-blown mane. Kukui had no idea of how to battle Guzma. Rock was strong to bug, but water was strong to rock, and the Golisopod’s defenses were almost frightening. Pebble lobbed a large rock at the bug, and he swatted it away with minimal effort, staring her down, as if contemplating something. They circled each other for a bit before rushing towards each other—ignoring both their trainers—and basing their battle just on the strength of their tackle. It looked to Kukui almost like how a sumo fight would be in the world of Pokemon battling, and the results were clear: Scuttlebutt won with ease. Both were unharmed from the show, Pebble shaking herself up and barking a confirmation at the bug, and Scuttlebutt helped to wipe some dirt off of her pelt, chattering happily before walking to Guzma’s side.

                “That’s…. it?” Guzma seemed perplexed, and a little annoyed—though as the winner, he felt less scandalized than Kukui did. 

                “Guess they’re too used to fighting next to each other!”

                “Yea, well, Scuttlebutt still won.” Guzma shrugged, and the Golisopod patted him on the shoulder, gurgling out a noise of appreciation.

                “Just wait ‘til Pebble evolves! Scuttlebutt’s so much bigger than her… it’s cheating!”

                “Alright. When Pebble evolves, we’re gonna kick your ass without any excuses!” Scuttlebutt slapped Guzma on the back of the head with a small amount of force, as if to scold him for _cursing,_ of all things. “Ow! Geez, Scuttlebutt, what are you, my _mom_? I oughta be punishing you for not listening!” As if to prove his point, Guzma turned around to smack Golisopod, the bug lifting himself out of range easily and laughing at the frustration on his trainer’s face.

                “Hey, I thought Pokemon battling was suppose to be between the Pokemon and not the trainer!” Kukui joined Scuttlebutt in laughter, ignoring the light flush of humiliation that had begun to paint Guzma’s features.

                “Shut up!” Guzma spat, returning the Golisopod to his Pokeball. “We’re gonna beat you someday, Kukui.” It sounded like more of a threat than a good-natured joke, and Kukui put his hands up in mock defeat.

                “You already beat me today!” Kukui pat Guzma’s back, the tension upon contact not going unnoticed.

\---

                They made it to the cabin on Route 4 as planned, the sky a bit darker than he had intended, but Kukui was relieved to see the cabin’s lights amidst the bramble and branches, regardless. It was hardly in the best condition, the cabin number long since faded and lichen beginning to grow on the logs that made up the outside, but the lights still worked and there were still beds available for any tired trainers. At some point, the Alolan government had set up a number of these shacks for trainers undergoing the Island Challenge—they were very Spartan on the interior, but they typically had running water, first aid kits, a phoneline, and beds, providing the most basic of needs for anyone who may need some hospitality in the unkind Alolan wilderness. Rangers would maintain them and check on them twice a day, transporting injured trainers and assisting with any care that may be needed.

                There was only one other person in the cabin—they were already asleep, a bundle of blankets in one of the first beds, a blue-and-gold backpack at the foot of the cot with a strange, metallic turquoise souvenir wrapped in the straps. Guzma and Kukui settled on two beds in the opposite half of the cabin, toeing off their shoes and haphazardly tossing their bags together in the space between them.

                “How are you feeling, Guzma?” Kukui asked, shrugging off his shirt and shorts to change into his pajama pants and undershirt. He stole a glance at the ugly bruise still covering Guzma’s left side, green and purple discolouration against tan skin, disappearing under his black undershirt.

                “I’m fine,” Guzma huffed, using his head to motion to his bag as he changed. “I still got my painkillers.”

                “Okay.” He could tell that the older boy knew he was staring, his actions becoming just slightly more aggravated as he moved. “It just looks really bad.”

                “Yeah, but...” Guzma buried himself in the worn-out blankets on the cot, covering up the bruises on his side. “It’s a bruise. It goes away.” Kukui sighed before slipping into his own bed and flipping off the light between their beds. He’d seen bruises go away before, especially on Guzma—they could be ugly purples and blues and greens against his skin, but within a week or two they’d be nothing more than a memory, but something nagged at him, telling him that this bruise would not just _go away_ like the others.

                “Goodnight, Guzma.” The other boy responded with a muffled “goodnight,” already wrapping himself in a cocoon of blankets. Kukui let Pebble out of her Pokeball, letting the Rockruff get comfortable on the pillow next to him before finally settling himself into bed.

\---

                The other boy who had slept in the cabin woke in a panic shortly after Kukui and Guzma did, apparently disoriented and forgetting where he had fallen asleep, before he steadied himself. Blearily, he reached for the glasses he’d shoved onto a side pocket of his bag, finally getting a good idea of where he was once he was able to _see_ again. Two boys who must have come in after he fell asleep were sitting on a bed together, seemingly arguing over the proper way to open a package of some sort of breakfast pastry and oblivious to the world around them. A familiar, rock-like object floated near them quizzically, and he couldn’t help himself from calling out.

                “Beldum!” Suddenly the attention was on him, dirty blond hair sticking up and glasses crooked over bleary grey eyes. The steel-type Pokemon floated lazily to him, and the two boys seemed to finally notice that the strange totem they had seen last night nestled on the other guest’s bag was actually a _Pokemon_ and not an artifact of some sort.

                “Whoa, that thing’s a Pokemon?” The boy with the black-and-white hair asked, and he felt a chill run down his spine as he finally saw the Spinarak that was on his back crawl up to his shoulders, feet delicately spaced apart from dots of purple and red that decorated the tan skin there. Subconsciously, he reached a hand behind him to make sure that there weren’t _more._

                 “It looks like a rock-type!” The other boy answered, the still-unopened foil packet in his hands.

                “It’s actually…” The half-asleep boy focused his eyes on the packet before sharing a knowing glance at Beldum, “… a psychic and steel-type.”

                The red eye in the center of the creature glowed, and Kukui felt the packet of Poptarts lift from his hand before he watched the foil wrapping open itself, tearing a thin line across the top before coming to rest back in his hands. He’d never seen anything like it, almost otherworldly in the way it moved and responded to the environment, and he felt his mind alight with questions before Guzma’s voice knocked it all out of mind.

                “Looks like a weird super-smart alien agrees with me on this one, Kukui. Only idiots open it down the side like you do.” A bony elbow knocked him in the ribs, the older boy smirking at him before reaching over for one of the treats. “I get dibs on the one with more frosting.”

                “Molayne.” Guzma shot him a curious look, Poptart sticking out of his mouth at an odd angle. Kukui tried to stop him before he could try and mumble his name around the s’mores filling, but his friend was one step ahead of him.

                “Mmph?” He bit off a piece, before continuing. “That your name or the little alien’s?”

                “No, my name is Molayne. This is Beldum.” He clarified, rubbing a gaunt hand along the smooth surface of his Pokemon.

                “’M Guzma.” The boy broke off a piece of crust, handing it to the bug on his shoulder. “This’s Freckle.”

                “And I’m Kukui.” He frowned as he realised that while Guzma’s Poptart was in one piece, his own was fragmented in the foil. “The Rockruff is Pebble.”

\---

                Over a breakfast of Poptart crumbs and a sectioned up Pinap berry, the three boys introduced each other in better detail. Molayne had only recently started on his own journey, coming from Konikoni City on the southern tip of Akala Island—he was a full year behind them, with no challenges completed, and an age to match. Kukui felt compelled to accompany the boy on his journey, chattering on about a trio of unstoppable trainers, but Guzma felt something in his chest tighten at Kukui’s suggestion. Beldum wasn’t good at helping out in a _real_ fight, sticking to just beams of light and fireworks, and Scuttlebutt was probably still pretty scared of new trainers and Pokemon, he figured—it wouldn’t make sense to bring Molayne into their life.

                Besides, Molayne had _just_ admitted that he only turned 11 a few months ago. He was younger, and more inexperienced than either of them, and he was motioning to whisper this fact to Kukui when the other boy slapped him on the shoulder—Guzma flinched out of reflex before setting a frown on his face in response, nervous that Molayne had seen. Not that he _cared,_ he would clarify.

                “ _What?_ ” It was the second time Kukui had touched him without thinking in the past couple of hours, and Guzma was going to have to have a talk about it once they were in private again.

                “Your birthday is tomorrow!” Kukui said, and Guzma turned his head to the desk calendar that he was pointing at. November 11th. “You’re gonna be a dumb broody _teenager_.”

                “I’ll save some of my eyeliner and black nail polish for _your_ birthday, Ku, don’t worry.” Inside, however, Guzma felt a small sting that he was going to be _two years_ into the eligible age for his island trials and only had one firmly under his belt. He didn’t even finish the Grand Trial on Melemele, absently touching at the still-healing scar by his nose. It seemed so stupid, now that he looked back on it, spending the whole summer doing _nothing_ and now they were going to be surpassed by a kid who barely even graduated trainer school.

                “Are you gonna do anything?” Molayne’s voice interrupted his thoughts, Guzma tried to convince himself that Molayne’s stupid Pokemon _wasn’t_ reading his insecurities and fears and projecting them into Molayne’s brain. It only half-worked.

                “Nah, we’re—”

                “What do you mean _nah_? Guzma, we gotta do something! We didn’t do anything last year so we have to do _something_! You’re gonna finally be a teenager.” Kukui pleaded, and Guzma sighed; he couldn’t deny that the thought of spending his birthday _away_ from Melemele Island, with just Kukui, sounded better than it had any right to be.

                “The Battle Royale Stadium isn’t too far from here!” Molayne interrupted again, and the two boys looked at him, confused. “It’s like… a four way battle competition. I bet we—um, you guys, I mean. I bet you guys could get there by tonight. It’s on the way to the Wela Volcano Park.”

 ---

                Kukui dragged Molayne along on their trip, and Guzma found himself warming up to the youngest of the trio, if only as a result of some sort of Stockholm Syndrome. His friend seemed to really hit it off with Molayne, and Guzma groaned as they animatedly chattered about if Rock types were stronger than Steel types and other conversations he tuned out due to disinterest. It was nice to have someone else deal with the brunt of Kukui’s passion, but there was still a twang of pain in Guzma’s chest, beyond his broken rib. Kukui had been his only friend for _years_ and he’d learned to deal with the annoyances that came with it, but now Kukui had just as easily abducted someone into their friendship and expected Guzma to just be _okay_ with that, and to be _okay_ with them going to some stupid sport arena for _his_ birthday. He hadn’t even agreed to it, though he did find it to be an intriguing idea and wasn’t against it.

                Molayne himself wasn’t bad at battling; the young boy also had a Magnemite (Guzma reasoned that it was due to a strange fascination with weird floating rocks), but both Beldum and Magnemite were more than capable of holding their own, using special attacks to damage enemies from a distance. Guzma could begrudgingly respect that, if nothing else, and was overall quite thankful that the boy’s Pokemon seemed inclined to keep birds away from the three _and_ serve as a pseudo-flashlight as they made their way eastward, to Royal Avenue.

                It wasn’t quite what he was expecting from Molayne’s commentary on it, a small Pokemon Center and “park” that was mostly a single poorly-lit fountain and some trees, and a motel complex across the way. Interestingly, it didn’t seem as if there were any houses in the immediate area, and Guzma vaguely wondered where the employees of these places lived, before shrugging it off and looking at the main attraction—the Battle Royal Dome. It was a meager-sized steel-and-concrete construction, an open stadium with large, multi-coloured lights illuminating the battlefield.

                “Told you guys we could make it by tonight.” Molayne seemed a little proud of himself as they entered the warm light of a street lamp, Magnemite ceasing its humming as it stopped glowing. “They’re closing soon but we could stay over there—” He pointed to a motel a block or so away from the stadium itself, “—and go first thing in the morning. We might even be able to get a spot!” Guzma hated how often Molayne was saying _we_ , but crossed his arms and nodded in agreement anyway.

\---

                “Kukui, we gotta talk,” Guzma hissed between his teeth as the youngest boy was in the shower, a slight lisp forming on his words from the gap. Kukui reached a hand out to place on his shoulder, but Guzma quickly swatted it away. “Are you really doing this? Just bringing a _stranger_ in with us?”

                “Guzma, relax, buddy—” Kukui started, unsure of what to do with his hands after Guzma declined them.

                “How am I supposed to relax when there’s just—we don’t know him!” He pushed, his voice a strained whisper. “And he’s 11, Ku, it’s _weird_. He hasn’t done any of the trials yet, you know? He’s going to bring us down.”

                “We’re going to have to eventually do this on our own, Guzma.” The words hit the oldest boy with a surprising amount of force, and he recoiled just a bit, like the words were physically harmful. “He just wanted to show us a cool place for your birthday. Don’t freak out about it.” Without thinking, he patted the boy’s back, right over the ribs, and he heard the slap of Guzma’s hand hitting his face before he felt it.

                “What the hell—” Kukui started, rubbing his face with a hand before turning to look at his friend. Guzma was holding his bad side tenderly, and his expression seemed a mixture of anxiety and anger. “Shoot, I’m sorry, Guzma, I didn’t think—”

                “Do you _ever_ think?”

                A palpable silence filled the air as Guzma leveled a glare at him and Molayne turned off the tap. Guzma’s gaze faltered, looking more anxious than angry again, and Kukui opened his mouth to reply when the bathroom door cleaved all the tension in the air and broke their gazes.

\---

                “Happy birthday.” Kukui’s whisper was hot on his ear, and the half-asleep Guzma _almost_ elbowed his friend in the face before he woke up enough to register what was happening. “I’m sorry about earlier. Are you okay?”

                “Sleeping.” Guzma tried to growl out, but his sleep-addled mind finished it with more of a whine than he intended. “It’s… ‘m fine. Just hurt.” He rolled over, trying to tug more blanket away from Kukui as he did so. “Don’ have anymore medicine.”

                “Huh? We can go to the Pokecenter before—“ Kukui was cut off by a loud _hmph_ and he dropped it.

                “Never had pills before, anyways. ’ll be fine.” Guzmas words slurred, and Kukui suddenly realised that he didn’t have a blanket, _again_. He sighed, trying to pull a little bit away from the older boy.

                “Guzma, no one wants it to hurt you.” There was a grunt in response, and Kukui sighed. “Can I have some of the blanket back?”

                “All I want for my birthday is this blanket.” Guzma mumbled into the fabric, curling it tighter around himself. The younger boy shoved his feet under the blanket, then, right against the small of Guzma’s back, under his sleep shirt, and tried to stifle his laughter as Guzma buckled backwards and nearly stumbled off the bed.

                “You’re a jerk, Kukui,” Guzma spat, readjusting the blanket for the both of them to fit. “I like it,” he finished with a smirk, in a whisper so low that he was _sure_ Kukui couldn’t hear.

                “You started it.”

                They woke up the following morning to each other’s half-asleep face and the blaring of Molayne’s wristwatch alarm clock. Guzma responded first, realizing that his hand was on _Kukui_ and they were under the same blanket, interlocked in a web of limbs and body heat—he jerked back and off the bed, a redness rising in his face.

                “Kukui, what the hell?!” He spat out, on the floor, trying to ignore the undignified way he had fallen and the pressure it had put on some of the still-present bruises.

                “Good morning, _sweetheart_ ,” Kukui teased, stretching his arms and giving a joking wink. Molayne stifled a laugh at the act, and Guzma felt the blush on his face reach a critical level, turning his gaze away from them.

                “I’m never sharing a blanket with you again.”

\---

                Molayne, apparently familiar enough with the area, had picked out some sort of diner for their breakfast, where they ate a nicer breakfast than usual and _mercifully_ did not mention to the waitress that it was Guzma’s birthday. Over eggs and biscuits and hashbrowns, the three discussed the mechanisms of a Battle Royal.

                Four trainers would step in—they had three already, so it would likely be a single trainer who joined them, rather than splitting them into two groups—and it would become an all-out brawl, the winner being the last one remaining on the stadium grounds. It was certainly an interesting idea, and the three could tell that they were all curious as to which tactic would be the best. Molayne stayed away from direct combat, instead using special attacks, but Pebble and Archibald’s speed and accuracy often allowed them to avoid attacks, even as they got within close range. Meanwhile, Guzma’s team was largely defensive, Mareanie and Scuttlebutt providing shelter while the speedier Freckle could make her attacks known. In a single battle against three others, Guzma wondered if his best strategy would be to just let the others get poisoned by Mareanie and sit back to watch the show.

                When they got there, it had gone according to plan. They watched three rounds of the professionals before their own amateur match was called in, a small arena set up without the cameras, seating, and lights of the professional rounds. The three boys were joined by a pretty, petite girl with grey-blue hair pulled back into a ponytail behind a visor. She packed and dressed lightly in a blue polo and khaki shorts, but most notably to Guzma, she had armed herself with a a _golf club_ decorated in a gaudy striped pattern of yellow to red.

                “So, you are my opponents today!” The girl announced as she leveled said golf club towards the three— particularly Guzma, who was in the corner directly opposite of her, trying to push down any residual emotions as he propped his glasses up against his forehead and shot her a smirk.

                “Uh, yea. We’re the guys who are gonna beat you down.” He lazily tossed the net ball containing Mareanie out, watching from his re-lowered shades as the tentacled creature loosely crawled towards center field, meeting with Magnemite and Pebble.

                “Three against one? That’s not fair! Oh, well…” Balancing a pokeball at the end of her golf club, she took a swing to release the Pokemon inside—a Trumbeak, a devilishly sharp beak at the end of black and white feathers, powerful wings lifting it into the sky.

                It hadn’t been the original plan to go three against one—but once the girl’s Pokemon soared above them, shooting pebbles and seeds while out of range, the three boys knew they had been terribly outstaged, and only stood a chance if they _did_ work together to take her bird down. Mareanie had set up a wide guard, tentacles extending out to protect the Rockruff and floating hunk of steel, but it did very little to actually _damage_ the bird, just deflecting small bits of rubble back and away from them, and leaving them in a stalemate.

                Magnemite attempted to strike the bird down with sparks of electricity, but the distance between them and the strength of its attack did very little to the bird, glaring down at them with intensity. Pebble launched rocks, but, again, the Trumbeak dodged and shrugged off the small bits of gravel that did make contact. The bird flew down, talons out, and rammed Magnemite into Pebble, the small dog-like Pokemon stumbling from the weight crashing into her.

                “What’s the matter, boys, are you too scared to attack each other?” The girl called from across the field, and mocked a kissing face. “Too in love with each other to play fair?” Something about it struck a nerve in Guzma, and he made the first move against Molayne and Kukui, ordering his Mareanie to whip at the two with her tentacles.

                Pebble dodged, but Magnemite was struck across a magnet, taking the opportunity to electrocute the poison-type latched onto it. Pebble responded by biting the magnet herself, sharp claws digging into a tentacle as the three Pokemon toppled over in a heap, all biting and slapping and electrocuting, before disbanding on the grassy flooring of the arena.

                Mareanie sluggishly crawled away, tentacles slowly retracting to its body, and Pebble struggled to stand herself upright from the tumble—Kukui withdrew her, trying to keep Pebble from being hurt further, leaving just Magnemite, Mareanie, and the Trumbeak in a low circle. The steel-type sent out a shock that did little to the bird above them, lazily dipping out of the way before facing them, sharp eyes sizing up the situation. Trumbeak veered sharply to the left before spiraling into the air and building a great height. Suddenly, the bird stopped, wings clamped tightly to the body before entering a freefall, wind and heat slamming the sharp and somehow _heated_ beak into the Magnemite as it forced both of them into the ground.

                The magnet pokemon spun on its back, unable to levitate itself, uselessly flailing the magnets at its side. Molayne withdrew it, biting his lip as he looked to the two remaining on the field. Mareanie was slow, a sitting target for the fast and airborne Trumbeak, which had started to veer again for another attack, diving down with talons outstretched, sharp points hoping to tear through the meaty tentacles of Mareanie. Instead, the small, rubbery creature contorted itself to face the talons, lowering its face to expose the sharp yellow spine on its head and charging forward, into the soft underbelly of the bird.

                Trumbeak hit the ground, skidding along the grass and tumbling, Mareanie still attacked via tentacle to the legs of the bird, tripping it up and preventing it from standing. A purple liquid oozed from the tentacles of the smaller creature, smearing on the soft feathers of Trumbeak, struggling against the ground.

                “Get up! Get away from that thing!” The girl called out, but the Trumbeak seemed unable to get very far, wobbling on weak legs as Mareanie held on, dragged behind it. Molayne and Kukui looked at each other, smiling broadly and clapping their hands as the Trumbeak hit the grass again and the girl, frustrated, withdrew the bird. Guzma was the winner, Mareanie slowly making its way back to him on ten poison-slick tentacles, the purple ooze trailing its path in the short lawn. Squatting down, he stuck out a hand to offer the small creature a high-five, a wet sound coming from the tentacle as it slapped his palm and entered the Pokeball. There was a small sting on his hand from the poison, but he wiped it off in the grass and smiled through it. It was the first time he won _first_ in a tournament of any sort—even if Molayne and Kukui had helped by trying to team up on the girl in the beginning. There weren’t trophies or medals to be given out, but the swell of pride in his chest was a reward enough, especially when the only people he even remotely cared about were _there_ to see it in person.

                “Ugh… congratulations on you and your _thing_ , I guess.” The girl’s voice was sour, but she extended her hand for a handshake and he took it, still slimy from the poison, and tried to hide his laughter while she recoiled and sputtered at the sensation. “Gross! You guys are gross.”

                “You’re pretty strong.” Guzma responded, giving a smile to the girl. “Are you doing the Island Challenge?”

                “Duh. I just have to finish one last trial here and I’m going to go to Ula’ula.” She proudly brought out her trainer passport as proof, with two challenges from Akala being marked off, as well as one from Poni Island. “How many do you have?“

                “Just one.” Kukui and Guzma announced at the same time, and Molayne shook his head, arms up in a vague shrug.

                “You boys have a long way to go to catch up to me!” The girl said, leveling her golf club at them like it was some sort of royal scepter, and Guzma subconsciously shifted slightly behind Kukui.

                “Too bad you lost to someone who isn’t even halfway where you are! Maybe you’re the one who has to catch up to us, girlie.” Guzma called out, half sarcastically.

                “The name’s Kahili.”  She straightened herself, the very picture of poise and perfection, before continuing. “Keep it in mind, because you’re going to know me as the Island Challenge champion soon.”

                “Nah, that title’s going to Guzma.“ He pointed a thumb at his chest and broadened his smile, feeling a small dot of the gel-like poison land on his shirt. Kahili rolled her eyes and rested her weight on the golf club, relaxing a little bit.

                “You know you and your little friends can’t help each other on the challenges, right? You gotta do it alone?” She winked. “No more cheating!”

\---

                It reverberated in Guzma’s mind, even as they went back to their motel—Kukui and Kahili were both right, they’d have to eventually separate, but the idea of it felt suffocating. He’d make more progress without Kukui, who kept trying to stop and get cushy hotel rooms and do everything he could to make them move at an agonizing pace, and he’d definitely do just fine without Molayne, but the thought of being on his own _terrified_ him. Molayne and Kukui had family to call if they needed anything, but Guzma just had a stolen wallet and the tension in his shoulders, feeling like the world had settled onto them.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally introduced Molayne and Kahili this chapter! I promise I'll get to the like... rest of the plot eventually.


	5. Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio of boys separate to attempt their first trials on Akala Island.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for 150 kudos! Sorry it took so long! School, life, medical stuff, blah blah blah... I'll spare the excuses but warn ya'll that I will probably be spotty at best at updating, though I still have every intention of writing this out to the end.
> 
> Small notes: I imagine Ride Pokemon are trained by the captains, and according to some of the concept art in the book, it looks like the ride pager holds the Pokemon themselves? So uh, for purposes of this story and making more sense of it: they're single-use Pokemon specifically designed for trial-goers, they're trained for rock smash/dive/etc. like they are in-game but they are also able to be used in emergencies. Never quite made sense to me that you could use surf/fly/etc. with a fainted Pokemon, so... these guys are there to basically keep you from getting stuck in a cave or something in a pinch, and protect as needed.

                  The separation seemed obvious when it happened. There were three island challenges on Akala Island and there were three of them, each challenge only being able to be taken by a single trainer at a time. So, the trio split, Guzma opting for the Poison-type challenge, Molayne taking the Fairy-type challenge, and Kukui facing the Electric-type challenge. All of the boys agreed to meet up with the other one, somewhere along the way of going to the next challenge, and they made it something of a contest to see who would win their Akala challenges first, each obviously betting against the other.

                  Guzma was able to hang around the Royal Alley longer than the other two; it was closest to the Wela Volcano Park, and he took the chance to get a refill of his pain medication at the Pokecenter while he waited behind. The nurse scolded him for going through the bottle as quickly as he did, but he shrugged, explaining it away as damage during travel—his bag wasn’t the most secure place, after all, and he must have lost a few doses worth to a water bottle or the crushing weight of his supplies. The lie worked well enough, though, and the nurse urged him to keep a better eye on his medication in the future. There was a double-edged sword to his refill at the Pokecenter, though, in that he couldn’t avoid the messenger with a bag full of letters for travelers. The nurses gave his name and gave him a handful of letters that he’d been avoiding. He nodded, quietly agreeing that checking to see if any of the traveling postman’s letters were for him had skipped his mind, and begrudgingly put the letters in his pack. One was from Hala, and three others from his parents, and he figured that, if nothing else, they’d make good kindling for his campfire.

                  It wasn’t as scary as he thought it might be, to be off on his own—Molayne and Kukui were able to pair up for at least a little bit as they walked back east, closer to the cabin they originally came from and towards their respective destinations. Despite the lack of fear he had, he still felt a small bubble of insecurity in his chest that seemed to keep him trapped in the confines of the town, the soft glow of streetlights popping on as the sun began to set around him. Begrudgingly, he set up camp just a little ways out of the small half-town, not particularly eager to spend another night in a stuffy motel.

                  He had Kukui’s number registered on his ride pager and found it functioned more like a radio than a pager; he’d never really tried it out before, not having anyone in particular to talk to, nor any use for it, but on his first night alone, he found the speaker crackling to life with Kukui’s voice. He could hear Molayne in the background, fussing with something—a tent?

                  “Guzma?” There was static on the line and it was hard to fully make out what each other was saying, but he could still practically hear the sparkle in Kukui’s voice. “How are you doing?” Guzma could make out the word ‘ribs’ and rolled his eyes.

                  “Still alive. I got more medicine so I’m fine. What’s it like over there?”

                  “We’re not anywhere new. We heard a Bewear so we had to stop, just in case. How about you?”

                  “I stayed behind a while to make sure I had lots of supplies. I didn’t have any canned food.” It wasn’t a total lie—he just stayed longer than he originally intended, dawdling a bit.

                  “It’s always good to be prepared!” Kukui’s chipper voice sounded out through the ride pager, and he felt far more at ease with the situation, knowing that his best friend wasn’t too far away.

\---

                  The scrubland near the volcanic park seemed more threatening than the woods, if only for the relative lack of trees and the general more hostile climate. A small, black lizard scuttled across his path, stopping only momentarily, as if to investigate the intruder to its territory before continuing on. The early dawn sun gave the place an almost otherworldly feel, all golds and pinks crowning over the shallow crater of a dormant volcanic shield. It had been ages since the volcano had shown any activity and was officially declared extinct, but ash and sulfur hung in the air regardless.

                  It was faster without Kukui—Guzma was able to take breaks for just one person, not two, and he could travel when he felt like. Something had jolted him awake, early that morning, and he didn’t have to wait for Kukui to wake up before he could walk it off. He released Scuttlebutt for company and took advantage of the time to really revel in the tones of the early morning. It was quiet, peaceful, even, and the otherworldly look of the volcanic ring was something he wished he could take a picture of for Kukui—he hadn’t really thought to bring a camera or journal or anything, packing only the most essential items. When he got to the nearest shop, assuming he had the battle money to afford it, he would have to invest in something to share his journey.

                  The volcano wasn’t hard to surmount—it was a gradual slope, and the air was clear despite the smell of sulfur and the settled ash in the grass. Scuttlebutt walked with him, and Guzma would blame the bug Pokemon and not the anxiety nipping at his chest for exactly _why_ he took nearly twice as long as he should have to reach the center of the volcano. It was huge, to be sure, and the week journey would have an excuse of trying new battle strategies and sharing stories with Kukui over the pager, but eventually Guzma would reach the Totem Den and his new challenge. At the middle of the shield, lava flowed openly in a crescent, torches and a pseudo-stage being set in the center.

                  Milo was the name of the pale boy in charge of the poison-type trial, his eyes downturned and his movements sluggish—he almost reminded Guzma of a Grimer, though there was an almost uncanny swiftness to the boy as he came to life.

                  “Poison is a beautiful thing—it truly makes you feel alive!” He was certainly… _eccentric_ , to say the least, babbling about how the sting of a burn and bite of poison helped one to truly feel, and the importance of knowing how to handle these ailments in the field could not be stressed enough. Fairy-types, for all their healing capabilities were weak to poison, and even dragons could succumb to a poison barb from a Weedle. The challenge, to prove himself to the totem Pokemon and to Milo himself, entailed finding the right plant to cure the effects of a poison-type move. He was given a time limit of two weeks, and rolled his eyes at the limit before a small black lizard—much like the one that greeted him when he entered the park—clamped its fangs down on the back of his calf.

                  “What the fuck?!” Guzma tried to not panic as he tried to scrape the lizard off his leg, watching it crawl up the shoulders of Milo and give a devious smirk at him to match the wide-eyed grin that the trial captain was giving him. He wasn’t bleeding terribly, at least, but he shot his best glare to the duo. “You better be lucky your stupid lizard didn’t get blood on my shoes.” Maybe white wasn’t the best choice, he figured, for shoes to hike across Alola in, but having a stupid slimy Pokemon bite him and stain them with his blood wasn’t exactly what he was thinking about when he bought them, anyway.

                  “You have two weeks!” The fact that he’d just been _poisoned_ for a trial seemed like it had to violate some sort of rule in the handbook somewhere, but he just shot his best glare at the two before making his way back down the side of the volcano. _What a weirdo._

\---

                  Molayne and Kukui had parted ways a few days into their journey, Molayne forced to go around to the proper entrance of the Lush Jungle, the thick vines and trees obscuring any real chance to make a back entrance a _shortcut_ compared to the more scenic route, at least. Kukui enjoyed the salty breeze of the ocean as he approached Brooklet Hill, feeling any anxiety he had diminish as he chatted with Guzma over the pager, a near-nightly ritual for the two of them. He seemed to be in the opposite environment, describing the place as more grey and brown and the wind smelling like “a wet fart,” but Kukui’s own trial would be a welcome relief for the boy, he thought. Guzma seemed drawn to the ocean, it seemed, more than content to just float on the water or dig his toes into the sand, and Kukui found himself hoping that his friend wasn’t miserable as he climbed the volcano.

                  Brooklet Hill was beautiful when he did reach it; delicate pools of water dripped into the other, and the moon reflected in the craters, glimmering silver and dark blue. A wiry, dark-skinned girl was by the lip of a rock formation, and Kukui could see the glint of metal that denoted her captain’s charm. She introduced herself as Lantana, clad in a golden bikini set and decorated with lapis lazuli. A large fish-like Pokemon bubbled beneath the surface, glowing with a pale yellow light, and the girl giggled, promising him that he’d meet the totem Lanturn in due time. For the time, Kukui was taken to a cabin for a night’s sleep, just off the edge of the main pool.

                  The challenge was fairly simple but certainly tested his physical ability, as he didn’t have any Pokemon that felt nearly as comfortable in the water as he did. He was tasked to find a number of items for Lantana, ones that the totem Lanturn had carefully laced around the pits of water. On the deeper sections, he had a Chinchou registered to his pager that allowed him to dive quickly before he lost his breath, though he was restricted to his own Pokemon and himself in the shallower segments. Lantana oversaw him, the overweight boy dragging himself up on land and panting as he clutched a pearl in his hand. It took him three days, Lantana forcing him out of the water after a few hours and claiming that she didn’t want to make him waste a week in bed after he overworked himself.

                  He wasn’t ever a small kid—even as an infant he’d been thicker than most, and malasadas and Hala’s signature feasts as a kid had certainly not done much to help with that aspect, but Hala himself was large and strong, and so were his Pokemon. It hadn’t bothered him up until the electric trial, though Guzma’s teasing and saying that trainers resembled their Pokemon and that was the _real_ reason he gave Kukui his Munchlax had stung more than he wanted it to. Kukui bit back that Guzma must have been a Cutiefly with his sharp nose and dark eyes and fuzzy head and that had been the end of the conversation (barring a follow-up comment that he was even turning pink like his Cutiefly, of course) and the last of Guzma’s jokes on the subject. The breathlessness that followed after a relatively short burst of energy in his diving was more than a little concerning, though, and Kukui wondered if he should try and at least up his own stamina, somehow.

\---

                  “I’m sorry, but we’re not authorized to help trainers out with the Poison trial.”

                  “You mean to tell me some as— _butthead_ is poisoning people up there and you guys don’t even _care_?!” Guzma grumbled, looking at the nurses with an accusatory glare. “What if I’m allergic to lizard spit? What if I get an infection? Huh? _I got poisoned!_ ”

                  “If you face any complications, let us know, and we can help you from there. You just need to hold down 1 on the pager and it’ll send an emergency signal, okay? And may I suggest you look at some of the guidebooks by the café on how to manage poison, burns, and pain in the Alolan wilds?” The nurse pointed to the rack of magazines and informational packets, a slight smile on her lips, like this was _funny_ to her, him being slowly poisoned to death on his _second_ trial.

                  “Whatever.” The guides were quite helpful, he begrudgingly admitted, and found that he’d need some leaves off a stupid plant off Route 6. Luckily, it wasn’t too far from the Royal Alley he’d returned to, and he should be able to make it back to a campsite by the evening and up the volcano in half the time it took him initially. It didn’t make the annoyance bubbling in his gut dissipate, though, and he kept eyeing the bite on his calf with disdain and worry as he tried to keep it clean and wrapped. It hadn’t gotten worse, which he assumed was a good thing, but he was more than prepared to use that very same leg to kick the absolute _shit_ out of Milo when he got back to the top, regardless.

                  It only took him eight days to get the leaves and to come back, and _of course_ Milo wasn’t there to greet him in the ring of churning lava. Briefly Guzma wondered if he could be charged with murder if he tossed the captain into it—there wouldn’t be anything left for a charge, would there? Though he had to get the poison in his leg healed before he could do anything _that_ drastic. But maybe….

                  One of the trainers at the site noticed Guzma’s not-subtle glaring into the space that Milo used to occupy and gently approached the boy to let him know that Milo had stepped out for the night. His cabin was near the base of the volcano, if Guzma felt up to further travel, but Guzma set up his tent right at the pit of the Totem’s den, determined to meet Milo the _second_ he arrived to his appointed spot.

                  Milo got to the site shortly after 6AM, though all Guzma could register was that it was still dark out, with a tinge of cool air, but the heat of annoyance in the pit of his stomach kept him warm enough to not even pull his leather jacket over his bare arms before he burst out of his tent towards the greasy, lame-eyed boy.

                  “I got your stupid leaves!” Guzma spat, tossing the sloppily bundled package of leaves at the feet of the boy. “Now fix me so I can beat your ass.”

                  “It’ll take more than these to fix you.” Milo teased, carefully inspecting the plant in his hands before giving a weak smile and tossing it into the pit of fire around them. Guzma nearly dove after it, the sliver of self-preservation he still had stopping him as he watched it catch fire instantly.

                  “What the _fuck_?” Guzma ran to grab at Milo, panic and desperation fueling the anger that flew at full-mast by this point. “What the _fuck_? You poisoned me, and threw out the _antidote?!_ And what do you mean by _that_ , that the leaves I got weren’t good enough?!” He was taller, though not by much, and his gangly form did little to intimidate Milo, even with tan fists balled up in the material of his shirt.

                  “Salandit’s bite isn’t venomous. You never _needed_ an antidote. You really should have looked that up before looking up how to soothe envenomed wounds.” Milo stated with a smile, and Guzma reeled back to punch the older boy out of sheer rage, though he found his arm caught by a clammy, warm hand.

                  Spinning around to give a proper punishment to the intruder, Guzma found his blood running cold as he saw a lizard, as tall as any adult he knew, gripping his arm. It cocked its hips and head to the side, looking him up and down like he was a piece of meat and not a trainer—he swore that the look on that thing’s face was predatory and sensual, all at once, and he was immediately too disgusted to hold onto his anger.

                  “The totem Salazzle may have more of a kick to her bite, though.”

\---

                  Kukui was allowed to keep the Chinchou following his trial; registered to the pager, he was able to call upon the fish to help buoy him across the water’s surface, or to dive deeply. It was a nice gesture, though the boy wasn’t sure that he would really use the Pokemon as often as others might. He already felt bad for Hala’s Tauros, largely going unused and ignored due to his preference to walk and soak in the wilderness—though the bull’s powerful skull had come in handy to destroy a few errant rocks on the way to Brooklet Hill, and on his way back to the Royal Avenue, where Guzma had enthusiastically told him he was waiting. He wasn’t quite sure _where_ , exactly, to meet his friend, who had remained cryptic over the pager and ended the transmission, but he figured that it’d be impossible to miss Guzma in a crowd.

                  “Ku!” He vaguely heard his friend’s voice on the air, whipping around to a cutting wind and a growing sense of disappointment. It had been nearly three weeks since they had seen each other, and something in him felt especially lonely without Guzma—there was a void of biting comments and a growing stoicism, a craving that Molayne couldn’t replace.

                  Kukui became filled with awe when Guzma lighted down in the park, tethered by a harness to a massive purple creature that seemed to be more wing and toothy grin than anything else. Guzma himself was less awe-inspiring, with a pair of goggles over his eyes that made _him_ look like one of his bug types, his hair windblown and messier than usual. The younger boy watched as he unhooked the harness and pulled his ponytail out, shaking his head and running fingers through the curls, and suppressed a giggle as the older boy looked up at him, the natural volume of his hair getting away from him easily and pooling over his forehead and into his face. It had grown out enough to cover his eyes completely and tickle at the tip of his nose, and Kukui couldn’t resist running his hands through it while the boy was still adjusting from his flight.

                  “Wh—” Guzma froze up at first, jumping back and swiping Kukui’s hands away with a frown. “I’m not like Pebble, dude, you gotta ask before you start petting me, weirdo.” He straightened himself back out, pulling his hair back into the fuzzy ponytail he’d had before, though marginally more controlled, and continued. “Anyways… check out this Crobat! I get to use it like a ride Pokemon. It’s fuckin’ fast as hell.” He patted the Pokemon in question, the bat stretching its wings and half-crawling towards Kukui.

                  “Wait, you got a _flying_ ride Pokemon?!” It certainly made the Chinchou look more lame, but he lit up when Guzma pulled out a second pair of goggles and started to slip them onto Kukui’s head, adjusting the straps and trying to secure his loose ponytail with them.

                  “Where’d you say Molayne was right about now?” Guzma gave a toothy grin and walked his friend to the bat-like Pokemon, adjusting the harnesses and the saddle to fit the both of them. As the Pokemon took flight, Guzma felt Kukui’s arms tighten around his waist and hold him close, the hard plastic lenses of the goggles pressing just by his shoulder. A flush rose to his own face and he shifted, half-heartedly muttering a comment that died on the wind between the two of them. Molayne was staying in a motel by the Lush Jungle, and it wasn’t difficult to spot from the sky—it edged the side of the island, and Guzma pointed down with the Crobat. It landed a bit less gracefully than before, clearly unused to the weight distribution of both boys at once, but neither seemed to mind.

                  “See?! It’s so… fast…” Guzma trailed off, a noticeable pallor crossing his face as he desperately unclipped the harness and turned away, throwing up into the grass beside their landing clearing.

                  “Are you okay?!” Kukui couldn’t be disgusted, rushing to Guzma’s side as the boy stood there, braced against a tree with one arm and breathing harder than he should have been.

                  “Mmm… I just… seasick.” He shook his head, trying to overcome the fact that he seemed to have thrown up most of his strength _and_ lunch, if his trembling body was anything to go by. The two stood there for a minute, Kukui’s hand on his back and face laced with worry, before Guzma seemed to shake himself out of it, trying to ignore the acrid taste in his mouth as he gave a weak smile and returned the Crobat to the pager.

                  “Hey!” Molayne’s quiet voice met them, and Guzma looked behind him to see the boy running to meet them in the clearing, a strange creature covered in discarded scraps of metal floating beside him. He’d heard of this one before, at least—Klefki, a fairy-type that had an obsession with keys and other human accessories. Of _course_ Molayne had another weird steel-type.

                  “Watch your step,” Guzma mentioned, before realizing that he’d meant to show off his new ride Pokemon and had already returned it. He groaned, but figured it didn’t matter as much now, anyways. Surely Molayne would get a ride Pokemon from the poison trial, too, and he wouldn’t have to worry as much as Guzma did, since he had steel-types.

                  “What’s with the goggles?” Molayne asked, and Kukui pushed his up onto his forehead at the realization that he was still wearing them.

                  “Aw, you missed it, Mo! Guzma got a _Crobat_ from the poison trial, and it’s so cool! We got here in like, an hour! Remember how we walked forever to get to Brooklet Hill?” The boy waved his arms around, trying to describe the experience without the actual Pokemon present, and Molayne seemed impressed just by the concept. “Wait ‘til you ride one! It’s so fast! Right, Guzma?!”

                  “Mhmm,” Guzma’s response was weak and worried Kukui a little bit, but he had at least grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder, seemingly ready to go. “It can only hold two people at once, but…” He trailed off again, and Kukui whispered his concern to Molayne before dragging his friend to the second floor motel room.

\---

                  It really didn’t take long for Guzma to recover, just a glass of water and sitting on the floor had done wonders for him, though Kukui couldn’t shake that there was more to it than just motion sickness. His own stomach had done flips, that high in the air, and Guzma insisted that he’d flown for half the morning. It was just a lot, and Guzma was particularly susceptible to motion sickness, for whatever reason—and a small admission that he’d been so excited to show Kukui his ride Pokemon that he forgot to eat lunch made the younger boy’s worry dissipate a bit more.

                  “Aw man, I coulda gotten take out…” The idea of getting something from Heahea with the newfound power of Guzma’s ride Pokemon was an attractive concept to the trio, but they instead settled on a pizza delivery service. While they waited, Kukui sat on the floor next to his friend and let Pebble out, the Rockruff enthusiastically jumping into Guzma’s lap.

                  “Oh, yeah… Come on out, Freckle!” Guzma dug around in his backpack, releasing his newly evolved Ariados—the bug-type was still newly in this form, parts of her abdomen a warm orange-red and others still fading in from the green colour of before, but her dark spotting remained consistent. Large mouthparts clacked together in greeting with the smaller dog before rubbing against her trainer.

                  “She evolved already?” Molayne asked, looking down at them and letting his Beldum out. Klefki jingled the keys it had threaded on its tail as it floated down to the growing group of Pokemon.

                  “Yep. I’ve got _two_ evolved Pokemon, now.” Guzma stuck his tongue out before getting the door and the pizza. Kukui paid a tip to the delivery driver, noticing that his friend seemed to have forgotten, and saw the dark-skinned delivery boy board a ride Talonflame, a stack of pizzas carefully strapped to the saddle behind him.

                  “Whoa… they have a Talonflame for delivery!”

                  “I heard the Wela Volcano trial used to be a fire-type trial before the new captain came in… I wonder if it came from the last captain?” Molayne pitched in, peeking through the blinds to see the bird take to the skies.

                  “Okay, the Crobat is awesome but I think I’d take a lame bird over that captain again.” Guzma rolled his eyes, pinching off pinap berry and meat from the pizza and giving it to the Pokemon sitting around him. “What a piece of work.”

                  “What’s the challenge like?” Kukui asked, laughing as Freckle bit at the strings of cheese that Guzma had pulled off from his slice, the bug practically kissing him to get extra food, her new size making it harder for the boy to shove her off.

                  “That Milo kid tells you ya gotta know how to survive in Alola or whatever… and then he sends this little bitey fucker—” Molayne’s eyes widened at the curse word, and Guzma vaguely reminded himself to tone his language down around the loser. “—anyway, he makes you think you got freakin’ poisoned and sends you out to find your own cure? It’s messed up.” To demonstrate his point, Guzma lifted up the leg of his pants to show the healing bite at his ankle.

                  “Whoa—that’s intense!” Guzma released Scuttlebutt, feeding the gigantic bug the crust of his pizza and handing him a full slice.

                  “Yea. And the totem Pokemon, you go through all this crap thinking you might freakin’ die if you mess up… and the totem Pokemon is just _creepy_. It looks like a girl, but like… a lizard.” Guzma’s hands traced a vague hourglass figure in the air, disgust creeping into his face.

                  “Sounds like you’re just a hormonal teenager, thinking about girls and—”

                  “No, dude, when you see it…” Guzma interrupted, seemingly haunted by the Salazzle.

\---

                  Kukui described his trial to Guzma, and got excited by his elation at the concept—they hadn’t been swimming for such a long time, and he knew how much Guzma enjoyed it. Part of him wanted to ask to stay with Guzma for the trial, but figured it might be weird, especially since he’d already done it. Would Lantana think he was trying to help Guzma cheat? He just wanted to go swimming with Guzma again. The past months had been nothing but their island challenge, and he missed the lazy summer with his best friend spent on the beach.

                  “Oh, yeah, I gotta show you the ride Pokemon I got!” Kukui exclaimed, feeling himself well with pride over the Chinchou, suddenly. “Mo, you still gotta finish all the stuff for the fairy trial, right?” The youngest boy nodded, scratching at the back of his head.

                  “Yeah, I still have to find a few more types of mushroom. Alena is really thorough on her collecting…” As the least acclimated to the outdoors, Molayne seemed to have the hardest trouble with the challenge. He was extremely intelligent, to the point that it made Guzma jealous and self-conscious, but for all his reading, he was exceedingly dumb at trying to actually implement anything from his research. Combined with the fact that his Pokemon—even the new addition—lacked any real limbs or abilities to help, Molayne was struggling with trying to find the rare mushrooms the captain requested. “I thought since steel is strong against fairy, I’d get done first… I guess I was wrong!”

                  Kukui knew that Guzma would be leaving in the morning to attempt his next trial, but that only made the night with the three of them back together that much sweeter to him—even if Guzma still smelled like sweat and sulfur from his trial. He eventually teased him enough about smelling like a wet fart to get the older boy into the shower, and Molayne gave a small sigh of relief that Kukui couldn’t help but laugh at.

                  They spent most of the night sharing stories of their trip so far and taking advantage of the free cable in the motel—more than a few of the stations had been dedicated to Christmas, it seemed, and it took them nearly a half hour to decide what movie to watch from the slim options they had been given, settling on some sci-fi western combo that they would hardly pay attention to, talking over it and adding their own sound effects.


End file.
